THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


THE    MICROCOSM 


OTHER    POEMS. 


THE    MICROCOSM 


OTHER   POEMS 


ABRAHAM    COLES,    M.  D.,    LL.  D. 

AUTHOR  OF  "  DIES  IR&  IN  THIRTEEN  VERSIONS,"  "  OLD  GEMS  IN  NEW 
SETTINGS,"  "THE  EVANGEL  IN  VERSE,"  ETC. 


NEW  YORK : 
D.  APPLETON   AND  COMPANY 

iSSi. 


COPYRIGHT,  1880, 
BY  ABRAHAM  COLES. 


ADVERTISER    PRINTING    HOUSE, 
NEWARK,   N.    J. 


PS 


CONTENTS 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS, 

PREFACE, ix 

THE  MICROCOSM 15 

COSMOS  : 

PSALM  civ. —  Two  Versions,             .....  83 

GOD  IN  NATURE,        .   • 99 

MORNING  HYMN,             .......  107 

CHRISTMAS: 

ADVENT  HYMN,      ........  113 

THE  REDEEMER. — 1841, 114 

SOUL  LIBERTY. — 1842,            ......  118 

NEW  YEAR : 

ETERNITY. — 1841, 125 

FUTURE  LIFE. — 1842,          .......  132 

LIFE'S  MYSTERIES. — 1843,      .         .         .         .         .         .  139 

ACCOUNTABILITY. — 1844,    ........  144 

THE  FLIGHT  OF  PEGASUS. — 1853,          ....  152 

ALL  HAIL  ! — 1858, 170 

NATIONAL   LYRICS: 

FOURTH  OF  JULY. — 1851,           ......  '185 

MOUNT  VERNON  VISITED, 186 

ARM  OF  THE  LORD,  AWAKE  !            .....  189 

OUR  COUNTRY'S  BANNER, 191 

OUR  CAUSE, '192 

HYMN  FOR  THE  NATIONAL  FAST, 195 

THE  NATION  SAVED, 197 

Two  HUNDRED  YEARS  AGO,  198 


CONTENTS. 


FOREFATHERS'  DAY, 

CENTENNIAL  ANTHEM,  .        ,        .        . 

THE  LAND  OF  THE  FREE,          .... 
MY  NATIVE  LAND,         ..... 

POEMS  OF  PLACES  : 

NIAGARA,        ....... 

RETURN  AFTER  ABSENCE,  .... 

A  SABBATH  AT  NIAGARA,      .... 

WlNDERMERE,    ENGLAND,  .... 

IN  MEMORIAM  : 

HUMAN  LIFE,  ...... 

PRAYER  IN  AFFLICTION,        .... 

ELEGIAC  STANZAS, 

CONSOLATION,         .         .         .         .    •     . 
ON  THE  DEATH  OF  A  MISSIONARY, 

POEMS  OF  FRIENDSHIP. 

EPITHALAMIUM,      ...... 

THE  FRIENDS  I  LEFT  BEHIND, 

A  NEW  YEAR'S  GREETING, 

To  MY  LATE  GUESTS,  .... 

LINES  TO  Miss  H — 

FAITHFUL  FOREVER,  . 

MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 
DIES  IR;E. —  Three  Versions, 
ALL  SAVED,        ....... 

LUTHER'S  HYMN. —  The  Original  and  Translation, 
WOMAN. — Newark  Orphan  Asylum, 
STREAMLET  AND  POOL. — Protestant  Foster  Home, 
ANNIVERSARY  HYMNS,  I.-X.,    "          "         " 
THE  APPEAL. — Home  for  Aged  Women, 
DEDICATION  HYMNS,  ETC.,  I. -XIII., 
MISSIONARY  HYMNS,  I. -XIV., 

ODE  TO  COLD  WATER 

THE  LORD'S  PRAYER,  .... 


PAGE. 
200 
209 
213 

215 

219 

222 
226 
235 

239 
242 
247 
250 
252 


259 
26l 
263 
265 
269 
271 


277 
286 
2gO 
294 
297 
3O2 
312 
3H 
329 

345 
347 


ILLUSTRATIONS, 

1.  TRANSFIGURATION.  Frontispiece  to  Microcosm. 

Painted  by  Raphael.     Engraved  by  Raphael  Morghen. 
"  Et  transfiguratus  est  ante  eos.'1 — Matt,  xvii  :  2. 

Dear  God  !  this  Body,  which  with  wondrous  art 

Thou  hast  contrived  and  finished  part  by  part, 

Itself  a  Universe,  a  lesser  All, 

The  greater  Cosmos  crowded  in  the  small, 

I  kneel  before  it  as  a  thing  divine, 

For  such  as  this  did  actually  enshrine 

Thy  gracious  Godhead  once,  when  Thou  didst  make 

Thyself  incarnate  for  my  sinful  sake. — p.  24. 

2.  JACOB  AND  RACHEL.     Love  at  First  Sight,      p?ge  72 

I'a  in  led  by  Andrea  Appiani,  1811.     Engraved  bv  G.  Garavaglio. 

Jacob  venit  in  terram  orientalem     .     .     .     et  ecce  Rachel  veniebat 
cum  ovibus  patris  sui. — Gen.  xxix  :   i,  9. 

Young  Love,  First  Love,  Love,  haply,  at  First  Sight, 
Smites  like  the  lightning,  dazzles  like  the  light. — p.  72. 

3.  AURORA,  Page   I04- 

Painted  by  Guido  Rheni.     Engraved  by  Raphael  Morghen. 

Prevenient  splendors  run  along  the  sky, 

The  East  each  moment  brightens  more  and  more 

As  nears  the  jeweled  Chariot  of  the  Sun 

Where  rides  in  awful  state  the  King  of  Day. — p.  104. 

4.  CHRISTUS  REMUNF.RATOR,  Page  277- 

Painted  by  Ary  Scheffer.     Engraved  by  Henriqiiel  Duponl. 

"  Et  statuet  oves  quidem  a  dextris  suis,  hsdos  autem  a  sinistris." 
— Matt,  xxv  :  33. 

Let  me,  when  the  skies  are  rifted, 
And  the  sheep  from  goats  are  sifted, 
Be  to  Thy  right  hand  uplifted  ! — p.  285. 


PR  E  FACE. 


rPHE  MICROCOSM,  which  forms  the  leading  Poem  of  the  follovv- 
ing  collection,  has  already  passed  through  one  edition,  and  is 
now  out  of  print.  It  was  first  published  in  1866,  in  connection  with  an 
Address  read  at  the  same  time  by  the  author,  as  President,  before 
the  Medical  Society  of  New  Jersey  at  its  Centennial  Anniversary. 
His  design  was  to  produce,  if  possible,  in  a  poetical  form,  a  tolerably 
complete  compendium  of  that  noblest,  most  necessary,  and  yet, 
strange  to  say,  that  most  neglected  of  all  the  sciences,  the  science  of 
the  Human  Body,  relieved  of  some  of  the  dryness  belonging  to  the 
usual  modes  of  presentation.  An  "  Essay  on  Man,"  in  verse,  whose 
scope,  unlike  that  of  Pope's  should  be  physiological  rather  than 
ethical,  had  not,  so  far  as  he  knew,  been  attempted.  Pope  assigns 
two  reasons  for  his  choosing  verse  and  even  rhyme  rather  than  prose. 
First,  because  "principles,  maxims,  or  precepts  so  written,  both 
strike  the  reader  more  strongly  at  first,  and  are  more  easily  retained 
by  him  afterward."  And,  secondly,  because  he  found  he  could 
"  express  them  more  shortly  in  this  way  than  in  prose  itself  !  "  The 
author  of  the  Microcosm  may  perhaps  be  permitted  to  say,  that  simi 
lar  considerations  determined  his  own  choice,  feeling  sure  that  the  ad 
vantages  in  favor  of  condensation,  not  to  mention  other  things,  were 
clearly  on  the  side  of  verse,  even  with  his  moderate  facility  in  the  use 
of  the  instrument.  He  is  quite  certain  that  in  no  other  way  could  he, 
in  the  narrow  compass  of  fourteen  hundred  lines,  have  compressed 
an  equal  amount  of  information. 

Great,    undoubtedly,    are   the    attractions    of  a   virgin    theme.     It 
added  to  the  rapture  of  Milton — "  soaring  in   the   high  reason  of  his 


x  PREFACE. 

fancy,  with  his  garland  and  singing  robes  about  him" — the  knowledge 

that  he  pursued 

"Things  unattempted  yet  in  prose  or  rhyme." 

So  Lucretius,  in  the  opening  lines  of  the  Fourth  Book  of  his  great 
Poem,  entitled  "  De  Rerum  Nalura"  does  not  conceal  his  satisfaction 
that  he  is  first  in  the  field  : 

"  Avia  Pieridum  peragro  loca,  nullius  ante 
Trita  solo  ;  juvat  integros  adcedere  funteis 
Atque  haurire  ;  juvatque  novos  decerpere  flores, 
Insignemque  meo  capiti  petere  inde  coronam, 
Unde  prius  nulli  velarint  temoora  Musae."  * 

The  writer,  enjoying,  in  common  with  these  great  masters  of  song, 
the  felicity  of  a  subject  unprofaned,  for  the  most  part,  by  previous 
handling,  regrets  that  he  does  not  possess  their  power  to  do  it  justice. 
If  there  is  nothing  so  mean  but  it  has  a  divine  side — if  materials  for 
poetry  be  not  wanting  in  the  most  common  things,  a  floating  cloud,  a 
spear  of  grass,  or  a  handful  of  dust  even — how  much  more  may  this  be 
said  of  so  lofty  a  subject  as  Man,  "  the  mirror  of  the  power  of  God," 
reflecting  the  Maker's  image  in  every  part,  in  the  minutest  blood-disk 
and  elementary  cell,  no  less  than  in  the  complex  whole  of  his  most 
wonderful  organism.  In  short,  if  it  be  the  proper  business  of  Poetry 
to  deal  with  subjects  of  human  interest,  what  can  be  more  human 
than  humanity  itself  ?  Or,  if  its  high  aim  be  to  discover  through 
out  Creation  the  dazzling  tokens  of  the  Beautiful,  the  TO  naknv, 
which  is  only  another  name  for  the  Divine,  where  else  in  all  the 
Universe  do  the  shining  footprints  of  the  First  Good  and  the  First 
Fair  appear  so  radiant  or  so  recent,  as  in  His  last  and  crowning 

*  The  Muses'  pathless  places  I  explore. 
Worn  by  the  sole  of  no  one's  foot  before  ; 
'Tis  sweet  to  untouched  fountains  to  repair 
And  drink  ;  'tis  sweet  to  pluck  new  flowers,  and  there 
To  seek  a  famous  chaplet  for  my  brow 
Whence  have  the  Muses  veiled  no  head  till  now. 


PREFACE.  xi 

work,  the  Human  Form.  The  failure  of  the  present  attempt  to  show 
it,  would  prove  nothing  against  the  grand  poetic  possibilities  of  such 
a  theme.  Still  it  would  be  true, 

"  How  charming'  is  divine  philosophy  ! 
Not  harsh  and  crabbed  as  dull  fools  suppose. 
But  musical  as  is  Apollo's  lute, 
And  a  perpetual  feast  of  nectared  sweets 
Where  no  crude  surfeit  reigns." 

In  regard  to  the  Other  Poems  that  go  to  make  up  the  volume,  the 
greater  part,  as  the  dates  affixed  show,  were  written  many  years  ago. 
The  impulse  to  write,  in  persons  occupied  with  other  matters  and  who 
do  not  make  authorship  a  business,  is  apt  to  be  fitful  and  born  of 
an  occasion.  As  in  the  case  of  the  orator,  it  is  the  occasion,  most 
likely,  that  supplies  the  theme  and  determines  the  treatment.  Occa 
sional  and  fugitive  are  convertible  terms  ;  and  yet,  it  sometimes  hap 
pens,  that  the  interest  attaching  to  the  occasional  is  not  fugitive  but 
lasting.  Witness  that  great  body  of  fugitive  poetry,  so  called,  known 
as  the  Greek  Anthology,  composed  of  the  culled  flowers  of  many 
generations.  Each  dated  poem  is  a  window  through  which  we  catch 
a  glimpse  of  the  life  lived  in  those  remote  times.  These  minor 
effusions  of  the  Greek  Muse  have  a  high  historic  value.  Like  to  "  a 
light  shining  in  a  dark  place,"  each  helps  to  light  up  the  epoch 
which  gave  it  birth.  "  How  far  that  little  candle  throws  its  beams  !  " 
In  our  extreme  desire  to  know  something  of  those  far-off  times,  shut 
out  by  "black  usurping  mists,"  we  stand  ready  to  welcome  any 
means  of  illumination,  and,  like  the  Elder  Brother  in  Comus,  in  the 
absence  of  anything  better,  were  content  would 

"  some  gentle  taper, 

Though  a  rush-candle  from  the  wicker  hole 
Of  some  clay  habitation,  visit  us 
With  [its]  long  leveled  rule  of  streaming  light." 

The  collector  of  these  casual,  scattered,  and  half  forgotten  children 


XII  PREFACE. 

of  his  pen — in  many  cases,  the  incondite  and  unconsidered  improvi 
sations  of  various  occasions — would  be  glad  to  think  that  what  is 
here  said  applies  in  any  degree  to  them,  so  that,  what  they  lack  in 
literary  value  is  made  up,  in  a  measure,  by  that  historic  interest  which 
belongs  more  or  less  to  all  contemporary  utterances.  The  world  of 
to-day  is  not  in  all  things  the  world  of  yesterday.  In  the  solemn 
procession  of  events  there  is  perpetual  change.  The  incidents  that 
affect  ourselves  and  others  become 

"  Portions  and  parcels  of  the  dreadful  Past." 

As  we  grow  old  Memory  becomes  a  kind  of  "God's  Acre,"  full  of 
Gravestones,  Hie  Jacets,  and  Epitaphs  inscribed  to  a  buried  gener 
ation — 

"  I  have  had  my  playmates,  I  have  had  companions, 

In  my  days  of  childhood,  in  my  joyful  school  days  ; 

All,  all  are  gone,  the  old  familiar  faces." 

That  reflections  of  this  solemn  character  should  arise  in  the  mind 
of  the  writer  while  engaged  in  the  task  of  looking  up  and  disinterring 
these  horee  subsiciva: — dusty  relics  and  fragments  of  a  former  time, 
as  utterly  broken  off  and  separated  from  the  present,  as  though  a 
thousand  years  intervened — seem  natural  and  inevitable.  Doubtless 
in  offering  them  to  the  public  a  severer  sifting  would  have  been 
advisable,  but,  yielding  to  the  partiality  of  friends,  the  meshes  of  the 
sieve  became  so  large  that  almost  everything  was  allowed  to  pass 
through.  He  makes  no  apology  for  their  religious  character.  He  is 
glad  that  he  has  not  outgrown  Christianity.  Of  the  two  he  prefers  a 
humble  faith  to  a  conceited  agnosticism. 

NOTE. — The  Illustrations  to  the  volume — "Artotype  "  copies  preserving  the  ex 
cellences  of  the  engraved  originals— were  done  by  Harroun  &  Bierstadt,  N.  Y. 


\ 


\ 


PAINTED   BY  RAPHAEL. 


TRANSFIGURATION 
"  Et  transfiguratus  est  ante  eos."     MATT,  xviii:  2. 

Dear  God!  this  Body        .  .  did  enshrine 

Thy  gracious  Godhead  once,  -when  Thou  didst  make 

Thyself  incarnate,   for  my  sinful  sake.     p.  24. 


THE    MICROCOSM 


(SECOND  EDITION.) 


"KNOW  THYSELF." 


•'  It  is  most  true  that  of  all  things  in  the  universe  man  is  the  most  composite,  so 
that  he  was  not  without  reason  called  by  the  ancients  Microcosm,  or  the  little 
world  (Mundus  Minor)." — BACON. 

"  Since  God  collected  and  resumed  in  Man 
The  firmaments,  the  strata,  and  the  lights, 
Fish,  fowl,  and  beast,  and  insect,— all  their  trains 
Of  various  life  caught  back  upon  His  arm. 
Reorganized,  and  constituted  MAN, 
THE  MICROCOSM,  the  adding  up  of  works." 

— ELIZABETH  B.  BROWNING. 

"  What  a  piece  of  work  is  Man  !  How  noble  in  reason  !  how  infinite  in  faculties  ! 
in  form  and  moving,  how  express  and  admirable  !  in  action,  how  like  an  angel ! 
in  apprehension,  how  like  a  God  !  " — SHAKESPEARE. 

"  I  esteem  myself  as  composing  a  solemn  hymn  to  the  Author  of  our  bodily 
frame,  and  in  this  I  think  there  is  more  true  piety  than  in  sacrificing  to  Him  heca 
tombs  of  oxen,  or  burnt  offerings  of  the  most  costly  perfumes,  for  I  first  endeavor 
to  know  Him  myself,  and  afterwards  to  show  Him  to  others,  to  inform  them  how 
great  is  His  wisdom.  His  virtue,  His  goodness." — GALEN. 

"  I  will  praise  Thee  ;   for  I  am  fearfully  and  wonderfully  made." — DAVID. 


AN  ALYSI  S. 

fT^HE  Poem  begins  with  speaking  of  Man  as  the  Archetype  or  ideal 
-*-  exemplar  of  all  animals,  whose  coming  was  foretold  in  a  long 
series  of  Geologic  prophesies  from  the  creation  of  the  paleozoic  fishes; 
and  then  passes  to  notice  a  remarkable  anticipation  of  this  accepted 
doctrine  of  modern  science  in  the  isgth  Psalm — Owen,  Agassiz  and 
other  great  lights  of  Comparative  and  Philosophical  Anatomy  agreeing 
in  this — that  while  man  was  the  last  made  he  was  the  first  planned  of 
all  animals — it  being  easy  to  trace  even  in  the  fins  of  the  fish,  a 
marked  resemblance  in  structure  to  the  bones  composing  the  human 
arms  of  which  they  are  homologues — fins,  in  other  words,  being  im 
perfect  arms,  arms  in  their  most  rudimentary  condition. 

In  speaking  of  the  supreme  dignity  of  the  human  form,  viewed  as 
a  whole,  and  of  man  existing  in  God  as  well  as  of  God,  occasion  is 
taken  to  animadvert  upon  the  atheistic  tendency  of  certain  material 
istic  teachings.  After  which  the  component  parts  of  the  Human  Body 
are  taken  up  in  detail,  beginning  with — I.  the  SKIN,  as  its  outermost 
covering  and  face  (expressing  the  passions,  &c.,),  composed  of  three 
layers.  Below  the  Skin  lie — II.  the  MUSCLES,  the  Organ  of  Motion, 
directed  by  the  Will,  acting  through  NERVOUS  CHANNELS  of  commu 
nication  with — III.  the  BRAIN,  as  the  Common  Sensory,  and  seat  of 
this  and  the  other  Faculties  of  the  Mind,  such  as  the  Understand 
ing,  the  Religious  Sense,  Memory,  Imagination  and  Conscience.  A 
secretory  function  is  attributed  to  the  great  Ganglions  of  the  Brain 
(the  Gray  Substance)  of  a  hypothetical  Nervous  Fluid  which  fills  the 
whole  body. 

The  Mind  being  dependent  for  its  perceiving  power  on  the  Organs 
of  the  Senses,  leads  to  a  consideration  of — IV.  the  EYE  in  its  relation 


]6  ANA  L  Y SIS. 

to  Light,  also  to  Tears  and  Sleep.  After  glancing  at  the  analagous 
relations  subsisting  between  the  Soul  and  Truth,  mention  is  made  of 
the  Founders  of  Asylums  for  the  Blind  ;  also  of  Asylums  for  the 
Deaf  and  Dumb.  Next  comes — V.  the  EAR  in  its  relations  to  Sound 
and  Music  ;  and  then  by  a  natural  transition — VI.  the  HUMAN  VOICE, 
as  being  the  most  perfect  of  musical  instruments.  The  Mouth  and 
Nose,  being  concerned  in  Articulation,  brings  up — VII.  SMELL,  and 
— VIII.  TASTE.  The  final  cause  of  Taste  being  the  repair  of  the 
Waste  the  body  is  constantly  undergoing,  there  follows  a  description 
of — IX.  INDIGESTION,  DIGESTION  and  ASSIMILATION.  The  Chyle 
received  into  the  Blood  is  conveyed  to  the  right  side  of  the  HEART, 
which,  besides  being  the  grand  Organ  of — X.  the  CIRCULATION  and 
indirectly  of  NUTRITION,  is  the  reputed  seat  of — XI.  the  AFFECTIONS, 
and  stands  in  general  speech  as  a  synonym  of  LOVE  under  its  mani 
fold  manifestations. 

Having  noticed  the  coloring  or  modifying  power  of  the  Viscera  in 
giving  Love  its  distinctive  character,  as  exemplified  in  Maternal  Love 
and  the  Love  of  the  Sexes,  occasion  is  taken  to  speak  of — XII.  WOMAN, 
as  distinguished  from  Man.  Of  Charity,  which  is  Love  in  action,  or  Love 
viewed  in  its  practical  aspect,  an  apt  illustration  is  found  in  the  devo 
tion  and  self-denying  labors  of — XIII.  the  Conscientious  PHYSICIAN. 
Reference  is  made  to — XIV.  CHRIST  as  the  Great  Physician  of  Souls  ; 
and  to  DEATH  in  that  aspect  of  brightness  which  it  bears  to  the 
believer.  The  Poem  concludes  with — XV.  a  triumphant  anticipation 
of  the  RESURRECTION,  when  the  dead  in  Christ  shall  rise  with  NEW 
BODIES  made  like  unto  His  glorious  Body. 


THE    MICROCOSM 


ff£<XUTOV. 


Geologic  Prophecy  of  Mans  Coming. 

OWHAT  a  solemn  and  divine  delight 
To  pierce  the  darkness  of  primeval  night — 
Through  countless  generations  upward  climb 
To  the  first  epochs  of  beginning  time  ; 
Back,  through  the  solitude  of  ages  gone, 
To  the  dim  twilight  of  Creation's  dawn  ; 
To  the  dread  genesis  of  heaven  and  earth, 
When  pregnant  Deity  gave  Nature  birth  ; 
Borne  on  swift  pinions,  till  our  feet  we  place 
Upon  the  undermost  granitic  base 
Of  the  round  world  ;   and,  awe-struck,  standing  there, 
Where  all  is  lifeless,  desolate  and  bare, 
2 


l8  THE    MICROCOSM. 

Behold  the  forming  of  earth's  upper  crust, 
Built  up  of  atoms  of  once  living  dust ; 
Layer  on  layer  rising,  rock  on  rock, 
Through  lapse  of  years  that  numeration  mock; 
Where  lie,  in  stony  sepulchres  forgot, 
Gigantic  organisms  that  now  are  not ; 
And  all  the  various  forms  of  life  prevail, 
From  low  to  high,  in  an  ascending  scale, — 
Mollusk  and  fish,  then  reptile,  and  then  bird, 
So  on  to  mammal,  each  o'er  each  interred — 
All  pointing  forward,  in  the  eternal  plan, 
To  the  ideal,  archetypal  MAN  ! 

Scriptural  Anticipation  of  the  Doctrine. 

How  oft,  what's  plain  and  patent  in  the  Word 
Is  by  slow  Science  painfully  inferred  ! 
The  truth  she  took  long  centuries  to  unfold, 
Had  she  but  known  it,  was  already  told. 
See,  with  what  ease  the  Psalmist  now  unlocks 
The  secret  of  the  paleozoic  rocks  ; 
Inspiring  insight  given  him,  to  see 
The  drift  and  meaning  of  the  mystery; 
His,  the  discoveries  of  modern  boast, 
By  revelation  of  the  Holy  Ghost  ; 


THE    MICROCOSM.  19 

In  correspondence,  literally  exact 
With  geologic  inference  and  fact, 
O'erwhelmed  with  fear  and  wonder,  hear  him  speak  :* 

"O  Omnipresent  One  !  in  vain  I  seek 
To  bound  Thy  being,  get  beyond  Thee,  go 
Where  Thou,  the  Infinite,  art  not, —  Oh,  no  ! 
If  I  ascend  to  heaven,  I  find  Thee  ;  or  in  hell 
I  make  my  bed,  I  find  Thee  there  as  well ; 
There  is  no  hiding  place  from  Thee  ;  yea,  in  the  dark 
Thou  seest  me,  nor  need'st  the  sun — that  spark 
Which  the  insufferable  splendor  of  Thine  eye 
Did  kindle — to  reveal  me  or  descry  ; 
Thou  hast  possessed  my  reins  ;  didst  give  me  room, 
Growth  and  development  in  my  mother's  womb  ; 
My  substance  was  not  hid  from  Thee,  when  I 
Was  made  in  secret,  and  was  curiously 
In  the  earth's  lowest  parts  and  strata  wrought  ; 
My  perfect  whole,  was  present  to  Thy  thought 
While  yet  imperfect,  and,  in  Nature's  book 
My  members  were  prefigured  ;  each  thing  took 
My  embryonic  likeness  ;  fish's  fin, 
By  virtue  of  relationship  and  kin, 

*  Psalm  cxxxix. 


o  THE    MICROCOSM. 

Predicted  me  ;    ages  before  I  came, 

The  Ichthyosaurus  prophesied  the  same  ; 

Entrails  of  beast,  and  wing  of  bird,  supplied 

Aruspicy  and  augury,  nor  lied. 

Thy  works,  how  marvellous  !    Thy  hands  began, 

And  wrought  continually  to  make  me  man. 

In  all  the  grand  ascent  of  Nature's  stair, 

O  unforgetting  God  !    I've  been  Thy  care  : 

How  precious  are  Thy  thoughts  to  me — their  count 

Is  as  the  sand,  an  infinite  amount  !" 

General   View — Man  Supreme. 

O  thou,  made  up  of  every  creature's  best, 
The  summing  up  and  monarch  of  the  rest  ! 
Thy  high-raised  cranium, — vaulted  to  contain 
The  big  and  billowy  and  powerful  brain, 
While  that  a  scanty  thimbleful,  no  more, 
Belongs  to  such  as  swim  or  creep  or  soar; 
Thy  form  columnar,  sky-ward  looking  face,* 
Majestic  mien,  intelligence  and  grace, 
Thy  foot's  firm  tread,  and  gesture  of  thy  hand 

*  "  Pronaque  cum  spectant  animalia  caetera  terrain, 
Os  homini  sublime  dedit :  ccelumque  videre 
Jussit,  et  erectos  ad  sidera  tollere  vultus." — Ovid. 


THE    MICROCOSM,  21 

Proclaim  thee  ruler,  destined  to  command. 

A  little  lower  than  the  angels  made, 

Dominion,  glory,  worship  on  thee  laid, 

I  praise  not  thee,  but  honor  and  applaud 

The  handiwork  and  masterpiece  of  God. 

Fearful  and  wonderful,  and  all  divine, 

Where  two  worlds  mingle,  and  two  lives  combine— - 

A  dual  body,  and  a  dual  soul, 

Touching  eternity  at  either  pole — 

The  tides  of  being,  circling  swift  or  slow, 

'Tween  mystic  banks  that  ever  overflow, 

Exist  not  severed  from  the  Fountain-head, 

But  whence  they  rise,  eternally  are  fed  : 

Our  springs  are  all  in  God;  from  Him  we  drink, 

Live,  move,  and  have  our  being,  feel  and  think. 

Christian  Science. 

I  value  Science — none  can  prize  it  more — 
It  gives  ten  thousand  motives  to  adore. 
Be  it  religious,  as  it  ought  to  be, 
The  heart  it  humbles,  and  it  bows  the  knee; 
What  time  it  lays  the  breast  of  Nature  bare, 
Discerns  God's  fingers  working  everywhere  ; 
In  the  vast  sweep  of  all  embracing  laws, 


z  THE    MICROCOSM. 

Finds  Him  the  real  and  the  only  Cause  ; 
And,  in  the  light  of  clearest  evidence, 
Perceives  Him  acting  in  the  present  tense — 
Not  as  some  claim,  once  acting  but  now  not, 
The  glorious  product  of  His  hands  forgot, 
Having  wound  up  the  grand  automaton, 
Leaving  it,  henceforth,  to  itself  to  run. 

Infidel  Science. 

If  I  mistake  not,  'tis  in  this  consists 
The  common  folly  of  the  specialists. 
Bigots  of  sense,  they,  with  unwearied  pains 
Searching  for  soul,  find  something  they  call  brains 
Happy  the  mystery  of  life  to  tell, 
By  help  of  glasses,  they  announce  a  cell  ; 
And  thereupon  they  would  the  world  persuade 
They  know  exactly  how  that  man  is  made  ; 
'Tween  nought  and  nought,  his  origin  and  end, 
A  cell  is  all,  and  all  on  this  depend  ; 
They  pare  his  being,  make  it  less  and  less, 
Until  they  reach  the  goal  of  nothingness. 
Their  boasted  methods  failing  to  find  out 
The  soul's  high  essence,  they  affect  to  doubt ; 
To  their  own  notions  obstinately  wed, 


THE    MICROCOSM.  23 

They  vainly  seek  the  living  'mong  the  dead  ; 
By  learning  mad,  these  noodles  of  the  schools 
Are  but  a  kind  of  higher  class  of  fools. 

Who  follows  matter  through  its  countless  shapes, 
While  still  it  vanishes  and  still  escapes  ; 
O'er  eagerly  pursues  the  flying  feet 
Of  natural  causes  farther  than  is  meet, 
Losing  all  trace,  and  drawing  thence  too  near, 
Into  the  bottomless  obscure  falls  sheer  ; 
With  atheistic  cant,  then  God  ignores, 
And  turns  the  Maker  fairly  out  of  doors  ; 
Deems  certainties  of  consciousness  weigh  less 
Than  the  presumptions  of  a  learned  guess. 

Common  Sense. 

Presumptuous  though  it  be,  I,  with  a  calm 
Audacity  of  faith,  believe  I  am  ; 
Nor  venture  with  a  Maker  to  dispense, 
But  trust  the  sanities  of  Common  Sense  ; 
Hold  life,  despite  of  failure  to  extract, 
A  thing  of  firm  reality  and  fact  ; 
Accept  the  truth,  engraven  on  my  heart, 
I  have  a  spiritual  and  immortal  part. 
If  this  great  universe  is  a  deceit, 


24  THE    MICROCOSM. 

I  am  not  able  to  detect  the  cheat  ; 
Nor  dare  I  tell  the  Author  of  the  Skies 
That  He  has  built  on  rottenness  and  lies. 

Invocation. 

Dear  God  !  this  BODY,  which,  with  wondrous  art 
Thou  hast  contrived,  and  finished  part  by  part, 
Itself  a  universe,  a  lesser  all, 
The  greater  cosmos  crowded  in  the  small — 
I  kneel  before  it,  as  a  thing  divine  ; 
For  such  as  this,  did  actually  enshrine 
Thy  gracious  Godhead  once,  when  Thou  didst  make 
Thyself  incarnate,  for  my  sinful  sake. 
Thou  who  hast  done  so  very  much  for  me, 

0  let  me  do  some  humble  thing  for  Thee  ! 

1  would  to  every  Organ  give  a  tongue, 
That  Thy  high  praises  may  be  fitly  sung  ; 
Appropriate  ministries  assign  to  each, 
The  least  make  vocal,  eloquent  to  teach. 

Flesh  Garment — Skin,  its  Moral  Character. 

How  beautiful,  and  delicate,  and  fresh, 
Appear  the  Soul's  Habiliments  of  Flesh  ! 
How  closely  fitting,  easy  yet,  and  broad, 


THE    MICROCOSM.  25 

Each  Tissue  woven  in  the  loom  of  God  ! 

Compared  with  that  magnificence  of  dress, 

Wherewith  is  clothed  the  Spirit's  nakedness, 

O  how  contemptible  and  mean  a  thing, 

The  purple  and  fine  linen  of  a  king  ! 

The  spotless  vesture  of  the  silky  SKIN, 

Outside  of  all,  and  covering  all  within, 

With  what  a  marvellous  and  matchless  grace, 

Is  it  disposed  and  moulded  to  each  place  ; 

Bounding  and  beautifying  brow  and  breast, 

A  crowning  loveliness  to  all  the  rest  ! 

Endowed  with  wondrous  properties  of  soul 

That  interpenetrate  and  fill  the  whole — 

A  raiment,  moral,  maidenly  and  white,  % 

Shamed  at  each  breach  of  decency  and  right, 

Where  dwells  a  charm  above  the  charms  of  sense, 

Suggestive  of  the  soul's  lost  innocence. 

Pathognomy. 

Who  has  not  seen  that  Feeling,  born  of  flame,* 
Crimson  the  cheek  at  mention  of  a  name  ? 
The  rapturous  touch  of  some  divine  surprise 

*  Aristotle  calls  Love,  "  TL   dep/Jibv   npayfja" — a  certain  fiery  thing. 


26  THE    MICROCOSM. 

Flash  deep  suffusion  of  celestial  dyes  ; 

When  hands  clasped  hands,  and  lips  to  lips  were  pressed, 

And  the  heart's  secret  was  at  once  confessed  ? 

Lo,  the  young  mother,  when  her  infant  first 
Gropes  for  the  fountain  whence  to  quench  its  thirst  ; 
With  outstretched  tiny  hands,  to  eager  lips 
Conveys  the  nipple,  and  the  nectar  sips  ; — 
As  on  her  yearning  breast,  she  feels  the  warm 
Delicious  clasp  of  its  embracing  arm, 
How  thrills  the  bosom,  and  how  streams  the  wine  ! 
How  her  frame  trembles  with  a  Joy  divine  ! 

Not  Joy,  not  Love  alone  here  take  their  rise, 
The  chosen  seat  of  mighty  sympathies  ; 
Electric  with  all  life,  Religious  Awe 
Here  holds  its  empire  and  asserts  its  law. 
At  dead  of  night  when  deep  sleep  falls  on  men, 
Terror  and  trembling  came  upon  me  ;  then 
A  spirit  passed  before  my  face  ;  the  hair 
Stood  up  upon  my  shuddering  flesh — and  there 
Was  silence — all  my  bones  did  shake — 
A  voice  the  preternatural  stillness  brake  : 
"Shall  mortal  man,  whose  origin  is  dust, 
Arraign  his  Maker,  claim  to  be  more  just  ?" 

Contending  Passions  jostle  and  displace 


THE    MICROCOSM.  27 

And  tilt  and  tourney  mostly  in  the  Face  ; 

Phantasmagoric  shapes  appear  and  pass, 

Distinctly  pictured  in  that  magic  glass  ; 

Their  several  natures,  instantly  imbued 

With  the  complexion  of  the  changeful  mood — 

Ashes  of  Grief,  and  pallor  of  Affright, 

Blackness  of  Rage,  and  Hatred's  wicked  white, 

The  immortal  radiance  of  Faith  and  Hope, 

Like  that  which  streamed  on  Stephen's  from  the  cope  ; 

The  hidden  depths  of  being,  stirred  below, 

Thoughts,  passions,  feelings,  upward  mount  for  show  ; 

Unmatched  by  Art,  upon  this  wondrous  scroll 

Portrayed  are  all  the  secrets  of  the  Soul  ; 

Upon  this  palimpsest,  writ  o'er  and  o'er, 

Each  passing  hour  is  busy  penning  more  ; 

Events,  that  make  the  history  within, 

There  published  on  the  surface  of  the  Skin. 

Interior  View — Skin  Dissected. 

What  lies  below  this  beautiful  outside? 
What  proofs  of  power  and  wisdom  does  it  hide  ? 
To  eyes  instructed  and  divinely  keen, 
The  Shekinah,  the  Cherubim  between, 
Was  not  more  visible  than  the  Godhead  here, 


28  THE    MICROCOSM. 

Nor  spake  more  audibly  to  human  ear. 
For  from  the  centre  to  this  far  extreme, 
And  corporal  shore  of  being,  Love  supreme 
Its  miracles  magnificent  has  wrought, 
Embodying  the  Maker's  perfect  thought. 

Would  you  explore  the  Mysteries  of  Life  ? 
Dissect  in  fear,  use  reverently  the  knife — 
All  was  made  sacred  to  some-  holy  use, 
Whate'er  the  profanations  of  abuse — 
Cut  not  with  blundering  and  careless  hand, 
If  you  the  fleshly  maze  would  understand  ; 
For  that  the  task  is  difficult,  it  needs 
The  skill  and  knowledge  which  experience  breeds. 

Blending  of  Contraries — Structural  Details. 

Now  that  the  Dermal  Covering  is  cut  through, 
And  its  interior  structure  brought  to  view, 
Pause,  if  you  will,  and  let  your  aided  sight 
Peruse  the  wonders  of  Creative  Might. 
Admire  the  skill  that  can  in  one  combine 
A  Sensibility  and  a  Touch  so  fine — 
Making  the  Skin  throughout  the  purpose  serve 
Of  one  ubiquitous  great  surface  nerve, 
That  finest  needle,  would  it  entrance  gain, 


THE    MICROCOSM.  29 

Must  pierce  the  sense  and  stab  the  soul  with  pain  ; 

Where  camping  armies  of  papillae  wait, 

Manning  each  fortress,  guarding  every  gate, 

Armed  at  all  points,  and  vigilant  as  fear,      ,    . 

To  sound  th'  alarm  when  danger  hovers  near — 

And  yet,  despite  this  nicety  of  sense, 

Formed  for,  coarse  uses,  and  for  rough  defense  ; — 

An  imbricated  Armor,  scale  on  scale  * 

Twelve  thousand  millions  form  a  coat  of  mail, 

Flexile  and  fine,  or  horny  else  and  hard, 

The  trembling  nakedness  of  sense  to  guard  ; 

A  colored  Rete  delicately  spun, 

Quenching  the  fiery  arrows  of  the  sun, 

Spreads  soft  above,  and  undulating  dips 


*  The  Skin  as  here  described  includes:  i.  The  Cuticle  with  its  innumerable 
microscopic  tiles  specially  designed  for  defence.  2.  The  Rete  Mucosum,  the  seat  of 
color.  3.  The  Corium  or  True  Skin,  consisting  of  two  non-separable  layers — the 
upper,  papillary  and  sensitive  ;  the  lower,  firm  and  fibrous.  4.  Perspiratory  tubes, 
convoluted  beneath  the  true  skin,  their  spiral  ducts  opening  obliquely  under  the 
scales  of  the  Cuticle,  their  office  being  to  purify  and  cool  the  body.  5.  Sebaceous 
Follicles,  or  Oil  Glands,  seated  in  the  substance  of  the  skin,  serving  to  soften  and 
lubricate  the  surface,  furnishing  likewise,  perhaps,  6,  that  Distinctive  Odor  pecu 
liar  to  each  individual  whereby  he  sows  himself  on  all  the  winds,  and  perfumes 
with  every  footstep  the  ground  over  which  he  passes.  7.  The  Hair,  implanted  by 
a  bulbous  root  in  the  fibrous  layer  of  the  Corium,  which  being  contractile  shrinks 
under  the  influence  of  great  fear  or  horror,  and  as  the  poet  says : 
"  Makes  each  particular  hair  to  stand  on  end 

Like  quills  upon  the  fretful  porcupine" — 

quills  in  the  porcupine,  feathers  in  the  bird,  wool  and  hair  in  the  quadruped,  all 
belonging  to  the  same  category.  Hair  in  man,  not  being  needed  for  warmth  or 
covering  as  in  the  lower  lives,  is  gathered  to  the  head  and  appropriately  crowns  it. 


30  THE    MICROCOSM. 

Between  the  sentient  papillary  tips, 

Part  of  the  duplex  Corium  beneath 

Forming  a  continent  elastic  sheath, 

Felted  and  firm  and  suitable  to  bind, 

Muscle  and  viscus  to  the  place  assigned  ; 

Where,  nine  full  leagues  of  Tubing  buried  lie — 

All  convoluted  opening  to  the  sky, 

Transmitting  formed  impurities  within, 

Through  doors  and  windows  of  the  porous  skin, 

Th*  exuding  moisture  tempering  inward  flame, 

Cooling  the  fever  of  the  heated  frame — 

Fountlets  and  Rivulets  of  Oil  below, 

Preserving  softness,  ever  spring  and  flow  ; 

Musk  emanations — to  the  dog  defined, 

Snuffing  his  master  on  the  scented  wind — 

Hair,  not  for  warmth  or  dress,  here  sparsely  spread, 

Reserved  to  ornament  the  regal  head, 

Around  the  brow  of  Eva  thickly  curled 

And  crowning  Adam  monarch  of  the  world. 

Voluntary  Muscles — Their  Office  and  Work. 

Lifting  this  threefold  Veil,  we  find — beneath 
A  dense,  enclosing,  universal  sheath — * 

*  The  enveloping  aponeurosis  or  fascia  binding  down  the  muscles. 


THE    MICROCOSM.  31 

The  subject  MUSCLES — *  girded  to  fulfil 
The  lightning  mandates  or  the  sovereign  Will — 
Th'  abounding  means  of  motion,  wherein  lurk 
Man's  infinite  capacity  for  work  ; 
By  which,  as  taste  or  restless  nature  bids, 
He  rears  the  Parthenon  or  Pyramids  ; 
In  high  achievements  of  the  plastic  art, 
Fulfils  th'  ambitious  purpose  of  his  heart ; 
Creates  a  grace  outrivaling  his  own, 
Charming  all  eyes — the  poetry  of  stone  ; 
Symbols  his  faith,  as  in  Cathedrals — vast 
Religious  petrifactions  of  the  Past  : 
Covers  the  land  with  cities  ;  makes  all  seas 
White  with  the  sails  of  countless  argosies  ; 
Pushes  the  ocean  back  with  all  her  waves, 
And  from  her  haughty  sway  a  kingdom  saves  ; 
Tunnels  high  mountains,  Erebus  unbars, 
And  through  it  rolls  the  thunder  of  his  cars  ; 
With  stalwart  arm,  defends  down-trodden  right, 

*  Some  authors  reckon  the  number  of  Muscles  in  the  Human  Body  as  high  as 
527.  They  have  been  divided  into  Voluntary  (forming  the  red  flesh,  or  the  main 
bulk  of  the  body);  Involuntary,  such  as  the  heart,  fleshy  fibres  of  the  stomach, 
etc.;  and  Mixed,  such  as  the  muscles  of  respiration,  etc.  Each  Muscle  is  made  up 
of  an  indefinite  number  of  fibres,  which  may  be  considered  as  so  many  muscles  in 
miniature,  along  which  stream  the  currents  of  the  Will.  Yet  with  all  this  complex 
apparatus  everything  is  in  harmony. 


32  THE    MICROCOSM. 

Arid,  like  a  whirlwind,  sweeps  the  field  of  fight ; 
And  when,  at  last,  the  war  is  made  to  cease, 
On  firm  foundations  stablishes  a  peace  ; 
Then  barren  wastes  with  nodding  harvests  sows, 
And  makes  the  desert  blossom  as  the  rose. 

Muscular  Dynamics — Directing  Pou>er    Where  ? 

Bundles  of  fleshy  fibres  without  end, 
Along  the  bony  Skeleton  extend 
In  thousand-fold  directions  from  fixed  points 
To  act  their  several  parts  upon  the  Joints  ; 
Adjustments  nice  of  means  to  ends  we  trace, 
With  each  dynamic  filament  in  place  ; 
But  where's  the  Hand  that  grasps  the  million  reins 
Directs  and  guides  them,  quickens  or  restrains? 

See  the  musician,   at  his  fingers'  call, 
All  sweet  sounds  scatter,  fast  as  rain-drops  fall  ; 
With  flying  touch,  he  weaves  the  web  of  song, 
Rhythmic  as  rapid,  intricate  as  long. 
Whence  this  precision,  delicacy  and  ease  ? 
And  where's  the  Master  that  defines  the  keys  ? 

The  many-jointed  Spine,  with  link  and  lock 
To  make  it  flexile  while  secure  from  shock, 
Is  pierced  throughout,  in  order  to  contain 


THE    MICROCOSM.  33 

The  downward  prolongation  of  the  brain  ; 
From  which,  by  double  roots,  the  NERVES*  arise — 
One  Feeling  gives,  one  Motive  Power  supplies  ; 
In  opposite  directions,  side  by  side, 
With  mighty  swiftness  there  two  currents  glide — 
Winged,  head  and  heel,  the  Mercuries  of  Sense  f 
Mount  to  the  regions  of  Intelligence  ; 
Instant  as  light,  the  nuncios  of  the  throne 
Command  the  Muscles  that  command  the  Bone. 
Each  morning  after  slumber,  brave  and  fresh, 
The  Moving  Army  of  the  Crimson  Flesh, 
From  fields  of  former  conquests,  marching  comes 
To  the  grand  beating  of  unnumbered  drums — J 
Each  martial  Fibre  pushing  to  the  van 
To  make  "  I  will  "  the  equal  of  "  I  can"; 

*  For  the  benefit  of  the  general  reader,  presumably  not  familiar  with  anatomi 
cal  details,  we  may  state  that  there  are  43  pairs  of  nerves  in  all,  /.  e.  12  Cranial  or 
Encephalic  and  31  Spinal.  The  first  have  only  one  root  in  the  brain,  whilst  the 
latter  arise  by  two  roots  from  the  anterior  and  posterior  halves  of  the  spinal  mar 
row,  but  unite  immediately  afterwards  to  form  one  nerve.  Division  of  the  ante 
rior  root  causes  loss  of  motion — of  the  posterior  the  loss  of  sensation.  The  first 
transmit  volitions  from  the  brain,  the  latter  sensitive  impressions  to  the  brain. 

t  Helmholtz  has  instituted  experiments  to  determine  the  rapidity  of  transmis 
sion  of  the  nervous  actions.  For  sensation  the  rate  of  movement  assigned  is  one 
hundred  and  eighty  to  three  hundred  feet  per  second.  Muscular  contraction,  or 
shortening  of  the  muscular  fibre  takes  place,  at  times,  with  extreme  velocity  ;  a 
single  thrill,  in  the  letter  R.,  can  be  pronounced  in  the  i-3o,oooth  part  of  a  minute. 
There  are  insects  whose  wings  strike  the  air  thousands  of  times  in  a  minute.  The 
force  of  contraction  (Myociynamis)  is  most  remarkable  in  some  of  these.  In  birds, 
the  absolute  power  in  proportion  to  the  weight  of  the  body  is  as  10,000  to  i. 

t  The  heart  and  arteries. 


34  THE    MICROCOSM. 

Testing  the  possibilities  of  power 
In  deeds  of  daring  suited  to  the  hour  ; 
Doing  its  utmost  to  build  up  the  health 
And  glory  of  the  inner  Commonwealth. 
Levers  and  fulcra  everywhere  we  find, 
But  where's  the  great  Archimedean  Mind, 
That  on  some  POU  STO,*  outside  and  above, 
Plants  its  firm  foot  this  living  world  to  move  ? 

Cranium — Soul 's  Firmament — Brain. 

Find  it  we  shall,  if  anywhere  we  can, 
Doubtless,  in  that  high  Capitol  of  man, 
Whose  Spheric  Walls,  concentric  to  the  cope, 
Were  built  to  match  the  nature  of  his  Hope. 
What  seems  the  low  vault  of  a  narrow  tomb, 
Is  the  Soul's  sky,  where  it  has  ample  room  ; 
As  apt  through  this,  its  crystalline,  to  pass, 
As  though  it  were  diaphanous  as  glass. 
When  Sense  is  dark,  it  is  not  dark,  but  light, 
Itself  a  sun,  that  banishes  the  night, 
Shedding  a  morning,  beauteous  to  see, 
On  the  horizon  of  Eternity. 

*  Archimedes  used  to  say,  "  Give  a  place  where  I  may  stand  ((5of  TTOV  QTu), 
and  I  can  move  the  world." 


THE    MICROCOSM.  35 

Strange,  a  frail  link  and  manacle  of  BRAIN 

So  long  below  suffices  to  detain 

A  principle,  so  radiant  and  high, 

So  restless,  strong,  and  fitted  for  the  sky. 

Mind 's  Organ — City  of  the  Dead. 

Here  mounted,  standing  on  the  topmost  towers, 
Up  to  the  roof  of  this  high  dome  of  ours, 
With  the  Mind's  Organ  in  our  hands,  what  new 
Secrets  of  structure  strike  th'  astonished  view? 
A  weird  and  wonderful,  and  fragile  mass 
Of  white  and  gray  * — deserted  now,  alas  ! 
All  knowledge  quite  razed  out ;  no  trace 
Of  things  which  were  ;  now  mourns  each  happy  place, 


*  The  Nervous  System  everywhere  consists  of  two  kinds  of  tissue — White  and 
Gray.  The  White  forms  the  nerves \  the  exterior  of  the  spinal  cord,  and  the  central 
parts  of  the  brain  and  cerebellum  (where  it  is  soft,  like  curdled  cream,  but  is 
firmer  in  the  nerves),  composed  everywhere  of  parallel  fibres  or  threads  of  extreme 
fineness,  which  form  the  CHANNELS  of  nervous  power  and  influence  to  and  from 
the  GANGLIONIC  CENTRES — Sources,  both  great  and  small,  of  this  influence.  These 
constitute  the  Gray  substance  found  in  the  central  parts  of  the  spinal  cord,  at  the 
base  of  the  brain  in  isolated  masses,  and  the  exterior  of  the  cerebrum  and  cerebel 
lum,  where  to  economize  space  it  lies  in  folds,  dipping  down  into  the  interior,  and 
forming  the  convolutions.  It  is  found  also  in  the  ganglia  of  the  Great  Sympa 
thetic.  Condensely  stated,  the  gray  ganglia  originate  nervous  power,  the  white 
nervous  filaments  only  transmit  it.  The  Hemispherical  Ganglia  (the  plaited  or 
convoluted  cortex  of  the  cerebrum  forming  about  nine-tenths  of  the  whole  mass 
of  the  brain),  although  entirely  destitute  of  both  sensibility  and  excitability,  are 
believed  to  be  on  good  grounds  the  special  seat,  so  far  as  these  can  be  said  to  have 
any,  of  the  intellectual  faculties— memory,  reason,  judgment  and  the  like.  Im 
pressions,  conveyed  to  the  Spinal  Cord,  i.  e.  its  ganglionic  centre,  are  there  organ- 


36  THE   MICROCOSM. 

Where  frolicked  once  the  Children  of  the  Mind, 

Of  all  the  number,  not  one  left  behind  ; 

No  vestige  of  the  battle  and  the  strife  ; 

None,  of  the  conquests  that  ennobled  life. 

Hid  is  the  maze  where  Doubt  was  wont  to  grope  ; 

Hid  the  starved  fibre  of  a  perished  Hope  ; 

Hid  the  tough  sinews  of  a  wrestling  Faith, 

The  Christian  Athlete  matched  with  Sin  and  Death  ; 

Hid  all  the  teeth-prints  of  the  wolves  of  Grief, 

A  savage  pack,  of  which  Remorse  is  chief. 

How  strange,  of  all  the  wounds  our  comforts  mar, 

That  of  the  fellest  we  should  find  no  scar  ! 

None  can  point  out  where  UNDERSTANDING  dwelt ; 
None,  the  high  places  where  RELIGION  knelt — 
The  spot  where  REVERENCE,  with  feet  unshod, 
Came  to  consult  the  Oracle  of  God. 

The  crypts  and  catacombs,  where  MEMORY  cast 
The  bones  of  all  the  dead  of  all  the  Past ; 


ically,  not  intellectually  perceived,  and  the  movements  which  follow  are  such  as 
are  dictated  by  supreme  organic  wisdom,  forming  indeed  an  admirable  mimicry 
of  conscious  sensation  and  voluntary  action,  but  mimicry  only,  for  both  are  really 
absent.  This  belongs  to  what  is  called  "reflex  action,"  and  explains  automatic 
function  and  phenomena,  of  which  life  is  full.  It  is  not,  it  is  believed,  until  im 
pressions  have  reached  the  ganglion  of  the  Tuber  Annulare  that  they  are  con 
verted  into  conscious  sensations  and  excite  voluntary  movements.  And  only  when 
they  have  mounted  to  the  Hemispheres,  the  ganglia  of  thought  and  feeling,  that 
they  become  the  property  of  the  intellect  and  are  made  the  grounds  of  rational 
conduct. 


THE    MICROCOSM.  37 

Shelves,  where  were  stowed  all  libraries  of  man, 

All  gray  traditions,  since  the  world  began  ; 

All  literatures,  religions,  kinds  and  parts 

Of  knowledge,  laws,  philosophies  and  arts  ; 

All  actions,  all  articulated  breath — 

The  Book  of  Life,  and,  ah  !  the  Book  of  Death, — 

Wherein,  whatever  fatal  leaf  it  turned, 

Its  former  self  the  guilty  soul  discerned, 

Mirrored  entire — seen  outside  and  within 

In  every  form  and  attitude  of  sin  ; 

Th'  inevitable  reflection,  imaged  there, 

True  to  the  life,  like  pictures  of  Daguerre  ; 

The  very  scene,  in  which  each  deed  was  done, 

Painted  in  all  the  colors  of  the  sun  ; 

So  faithful,  fresh,  time,  circumstance  and  act, 

The  past  reality  seemed  present  fact — 

There  field,  and  weapon,  and  the  riven  brain 

Of  Abel  smitten  by  the  hand  of  Cain, 

And  blood,  with  red  moist  lips,  in  Pity's  ears 

Crying  for  vengeance  through  eternal  years, 

Th'  unwashed  crimson  of  the  guilty  sod 

As  in  the  eye  and  memory  of  God. 

IMAGINATION'S  skyey  seat,  where  came 
For  soaring  flight  the  demigods  of  fame, 


38  THE    MICROCOSM. 

Home  of  the  Muses,  fair  and  forked  Mount 
Of  high  Parnassus,  and  Castalian  Fount, 
Whence  issued  streams  that  watered  all  the  earth, 
Then  most,  when  blind  Moeonides  had  birth  ; 
And  Zion's  holier  Hill,  and  Siloe's  Brook, 
Warbling  forever,  in  blind  Milton's  book  ; 
The  topmost  peak  where  Shakespeare  took  his  stand, 
And  waved  his  wand  of  power  o'er  sea  and  land. 
Strange,  that  so  sweet  and  heavenly  a  hill, 
Should  breed  fierce  dragons,  ravenous  beasts  of  ill — 
"  Gorgons  and  hydras,  and  chimeras  dire," 
Monsters  of  hideous  shapes,  with  tongues  of  fire — 
Have  rifted  rocks  whose  entrance  leads  to  hell, 
And  the  damned  wizard  of  the  mighty  spell, 
Making  its  precincts  all  enchanted  ground, 
Turning  to  horror  every  sight  and  sound, 
With  grisly  terrors,  straight  from  Acheron, 
Peopling  each  nook,  and  darkening  all  the  sun. 

None  can  the  judgment  seat  of  CONSCIENCE  show, 
That  highest  Court  and  Parliament  below, 
Where,  sole  and  sovereign,  seated  on  her  throne, 
She  recognized  th'  Infallible  alone. 
To  her,  the  keys  of  heaven  and  earth  were  given, 
And  what  she  bound  on  earth  was  bound  in  heaven. 


THE    MICROCOSM.  39 

By  the  clear  light,  which  her  decisions  shed, 
Instructed  feet  in  pleasant  ways  were  led, 
Martyrs  were  pointed  to  the  neighboring  sky, 
And  Patriots  taught  how  sweet  it  is  to  die. 

Where  these  had  their  high  dwelling,  we,  in  vain, 
Seek  in  this  packed  and  folded  pulp  of  brain. 
Judged,  by  the  ignorant  regards  of  sense, 
How  mean  !    by  heights  of  function,  how  immense  ! 
To  reason  and  the  vision  of  shut  eyes 
Its  infinite  expandings  fill  the  skies. 
What  regions  of  sublimity  once  there  ! 
What  mountains  soaring  in  the  upper  air  ! 
Not  thunder  scarred  Acroceraunian*  peak,  • 
Alpine  or  Himalayan  loftier  than  the  Greek, 
So  high  so  hidden — from  whose  secret  tops, 
Keener  than  needles,  trickled  the  first  drops 
Of  rising  rivers,  flowing  silently 
Into  the  cerebral  deep  drainless  sea, 
From  which,  as  from  a  mighty  fountain-head, 
Life's  crystal  waters  everywhere  were  spread, 


*  A  range  of  very  high  mountains  in  Greece  (from  liKpn?,  extreme,  and 
Kepavvdf,  thunderbolt),  so  called  because  their  peaks  are  often  struck  by  light 
ning. 


40  THE    MICROCOSM. 

Coursing  in  liquid  lapse  through  Channels  White,* 
Swift  as  the  lightning,  stainless  as  the  light, 
Conveying  to  each  atom  of  the  whole 
Volitions,  animations,  power  and  soul. 

Once  beautiful  for  situation,  gem 
And  joy  of  the  whole  earth,  Jerusalem, 
How  sits  she  solitary  !  she  that  was  great 
Among  the  nations,  now  left  desolate  ! 
Th'  adversary  hath  spread  out  his  hand 
On  all  her  pleasant  things  and  spoiled  the  land  ; 
Her  gates  are  sunk  into  the  ground  ;  the  rent 
And  ruined  rampart  and  the  wall  lament  ; 
Her  palaces  are  swallowed  up  ;  the  Lord 
His  altar  hath  cast  off  ;    He  hath  abhorred 
His  sanctuary  even  ;  hath  o'erthrown 
And  pitied  not,  nor  cared  to  spare  His  own. 

*  The  Xerves  are  composed  of  bundles  of  minute  fibres  or  filaments,  averaging 
1-2,000  of  an  inch  in  diameter.  Each  filament  consists  of  a  colorless,  transparent, 
tubular  membrane,  containing  a  thick,  softish,  semi-fluid  nervous  matter  which  is 
white  and  glistening  by  reflected  light.  Running  through  the  central  part  is  a 
longitudinal  grayish  band,  called  "  the  axis  of  the  cylinder."  Branches  of  a  nerve 
are  merely  separations  and  new  directions  of  some  of  the  filaments  of  the  bundle, 
these  being  always  continuous  from  their  origin  to  their  point  of  distribution, 
which  prevents  any  confusion  arising  from  a  running  together  of  impressions. 
The  nervous  tree,  like  that  of  the  blood  vessels,  is  so  vast,  that  in  its  totality, 
exhibited  separately,  it  would  give  almost  an  outline  of  the  human  form.  The 
circulation  of  a  nervous  fluid,  though  not  demonstrable,  has  been  hypothetically 
deduced  from  the  tubular  structure  of  the  nerves  and  other  considerations. 
Assuming  the  fact,  the  whole  body  may  be  said  to  swim  in  this  vital  sea,  having 
its  analogy  in  that  higher  or  divine  animation,  described  as  being  "  filled  with  the 
Spirit." 


THE    MICROCOSM. 
Eye,  and  its  Correlative. 

The  ways  of  Zion  mourn  ;  funereal  gloom 
Fills  every  habitation  like  a  tomb  ; 
Closed  is  each  port,  and  window  of  the  mind  ; 
And  there  is  none  to  look — the  EYE  is  blind. 
How  different  once,  when  in  that  little  Sphere, 
The  glorious  universe  was  pictured  clear! 
O  what  an  Organ  that  !  germane  to  Light, 
Whose  own  relations  too  are  such  to  sight, 
T'were  hard  to  say,  the  two  so  nicely  fit, 
Made  was  the  eye  for  light,  or  light  for  it. 
Ne'er  were  two  lovers,  separate  by  space, 
More  eager,  fond,  impatient  to  embrace, 
Than  that  sweet  splendor — streaming  from  afar, 
Traveling  for  ages  from  some  distant  star, 
Straight  as  an  arrow  speeding  from  the  bow — 
And  that  dear  Eyeball  waiting  here  below. 

Light  has  no  Manifesting  Power  without  the  Eye. 

Prime  work  of  God  !  upon  the  bended  knee 
The  whole  creation  homage  pays  to  thee  ; 
From  night  and  chaos  countless  suns  emerge 
That  all  their  beamings  may  in  thee  converge, 


42  THE    MICROCOSM. 

Since  wholly  vain  and  useless  were,  they  know, 

Without  the  Eye  to  see,  their  light  to  show  ; 

They  roll  in  darkness,  quenched  their  every  ray, 

Till  thy  lids  opening  change  the  night  to  day. 

Placed,  for  commanding  and  enjoying  these, 

In  the  dread  centre  of  immensities, 

The  depths  thou  searchest  and  the  heights  supreme,. 

Ranging  at  will  from  this  to  that  extreme. 

Where  space  is  dark  to  thy  unaided  sight, 

Thither  thou  turn'st  thy  telescope  of  might, 

And  in  the  heart  of  the  abysmal  gloom 

Behold'st  celestial  gardens  all  abloom — 

Brave  starry  blossomings  and  clusters  fine 

Loading  the  branches  of  the  heavenly  vine  ; 

See'st  suns,  like  dust,  lie  scattered  'long  the  road 

That  leads  to  that  far  Paradise  of  God. 

From  this  to  yonder,  who  the  leagues  can  tell  ? 

One  might  compute  the  ocean's  drops  as  well. 

Turn  now  !  the  nether  infinite  explore  ! 

Extend  thy  vision  as  thou  did'st  before  !* 

Pierce  downwards,  pierce  to  the  concealed  minute, 

The  ultimates  of  things,  the  germ,  the  root, 

*  For  example,  with  a  Microscope  that  magnifies  a  million  times. 


THE    MICROCOSM.  43 

The  atom  world, — so  near  and  yet  so  far 

Not  more  remote  is  the  remotest  star — 

To  forms  of  life  to  which,  O  can  it  be  ? 

A  drop  of  water  is  a  shoreless  sea  ! 

So  vast  thy  sweep,  it  surely  were  not  strange 

If  eye  angelic  had  no  wider  range. 

Even  so  !     On  earth  or  in  the  realms  of  air 

Nothing  is  fair  but  as  thou  mak'st  it  fair — 

In  face  or  flower  or  iris  braided  rain, 

Beauty  exists  not  or  exists  in  vain  ; 

Without  thy  power  to  paint  them  or  perceive 

There  were  no  gorgeous  shows  of  morn  and  eve. 

Light  lost  in  the  Eye  reappears  in  the  Consciousness. 

How  wonderful,  that  organs  made  of  clay 

Should  drink  so  long  th'  abundance  of  the  day  ! 

Receive  the  constant  unreturning  tides 

Of  sun  and  moon  and  all  the  stars  besides  ! 

Not  lost  is  all  this  mighty  wealth  of  beams — 

Rivers  of  light,  innumerable  streams, 

Flow  darkling  for  a  space,  then  spring  again 

To  join  the  Arethusas  *  of  the  brain, 

*  The  river  Alpheus  in  Elis  is  fabled  to  flow  under  the  earth  to  Sicily  and  to 
unite  with  the  fountain  Arethusa  ;  hence  Arethusa,  a  nymph,  whose  lover  was 
Alpheus. 


44  THE    MICROCOSM. 

In  bliss  of  married  consciousness  to  be 
Fountains  of  brightness  through  eternity. 

Tears — Sleep,  its  Resuscitating  Power — Organic  Life. 

Since  man  was  born  to  trouble  here  below, 
Tears  were  provided  for  predestined  woe  ; 
And  tears  have  fallen  in  perpetual  shower 
From  man's  apostasy  until  this  hour, 
But  there's  the  promise  of  a  future  day 
When  God's  dear  hand  shall  wipe  all  tears  away. 

On  eyes  that  watch  as  well  as  eyes  that  weep 
Descends  the  solemn  mystery  of  Sleep. 
Toiling  and  climbing  to  the  very  close, 
The  weary  Body,  longing  for  repose, 
On  the  gained  level  of  the  day's  ascent, 
Halts  for  the  night  and  pitches  there  its  tent  ; 
Then,  sinking  down,  is  'gulphed  in  an  abyss 
As  deep  and  dark  as  the  abodes  of  Dis.* 
Rather,  returns  into  the  peaceful  gloom 
And  blank  unconsciousness  of  Nature's  womb, 
Where  plastic  forces  work,  to  be  next  morn 
To  a  new  life  and  mightier  vigor  born — 

*  Domos  Ditis. 


THE    MICROCOSM.  45 

Prepared  to  run  again  Life's  upward  way 

Scaling  the  misty  summits  of  To-Day  ; 

Lo  !  height  o'er  height,  through  all  the  years,  they  rise, 

Supplying  steps  by  which  to  mount  the  skies, 

Ladder,  like  Jacob's,  heavenly,  complete, 

Whose  radiant  rounds  were  for  angelic  feet. 

From  night's  dark  caves  spring  evermore,  in  truth, 

Fountains  of  freshness  and  perpetual  youth  ; 

This  seeming  death,  with  consciousness  at  strife, 

Is  health  and  happiness  and  length  of  life. 

There  is  within,  that  which  preserves  and  keeps  — 

Organic  Providence  that  never  sleeps  ;  — 

When  the  slack  hand  of  Reason  drops  the  rein, 

This  drives  the  chariots  of  the  heart  and  brain. 

Were  life's  full  goblet  trusted  to  the  Will, 

Its  nerveless  hand  would  soon  its  contents  spill  ; 

The  Maker  so  was  careful  to  provide 

Another  principle  and  power  beside, 

Archeus,*  Instinct  —  any  name  may  serve  — 


*  The  Archsius  (from  Gr.  upxeiia,  to  rule  ;  op^rj,  beginning),  according  to  Van 
Helmont,  is  an  immaterial  principle,  existing  from  the  beginning  and  presiding 
over  the  development  of  the  body  and  over  all  organic  phenomena.  Besides  this 
chief  one,  which  he  located  in  the  upper  orifice  of  the  stomach,  he  admitted  several 
subordinates,  one  for  each  organ,  each  of  them  being  liable  to  anger,  caprice,  ter 
ror,  and  every  human  feeling. 


46  THE    MICROCOSM. 

Organic  Life,  Great  Sympathetic  Nerve,* 

With  Cerebellum,f  competent  to  save, 

And  rescue  from  the  clutches  of  the  grave, — 

When  Sleep  would  else  have  caused  immediate  death, 

Stopped  the  heart's  action,  and  cut  short  the  breath, 

Drying  each  source,  that  fed  and  kept  alive 

Th'  industrious  bees  in  the  organic  hive.J 


*  The  Great  Sympathetic  lies  in  front  and  along  the  sides  of  the  spine,  and  sup 
plies  the  organs  over  which  the  will  and  consciousness  have  no  immediate  control, 
such  as  the  intestines,  liver,  heart,  etc.  Its  numerous  ganglia  (centres  and  origi 
nators  of  nervous  influence)  are  the  knots  of  a  nervous  reticulation  which  connects 
not  only  the  organs  of  Organic  Life  one  with  the  other,  but  these  also  with  the 
brain  and  spinal  cord.  It  is  due  to  this- -separately  or  conjointly  with  the  spinal 
cord  in  its  reflex  or  excito-motor  capacity,  derived  from  its  own  ganglionic  axis  or 
pith,  giving  it  also  independent  and  automatic  powers,  powers  not  sensibly  de 
pendent  upon  the  consciousness  or  will  for  their  exercise — that  all  the  vital  func 
tions  do  not  come  to  a  stand-still  in  our  first  slumber. 

t  The  opinion,  which  attributes  to  Cerebellum  the  power  of  associating  or  co 
ordinating  the  different  voluntary  movements,  is  the  one  now  most  generally  re 
ceived.  Destroyed,  the  gubernatorial  faculty  is  lost  and  the  animal  staggers  and 
falls  like  a  drunken  man.  In  addition  to  this,  it  has  been  supposed  that  whatever 
the  cerebrum  does  rationally  and  by  fits,  the  cerebellum  does  unconsciously  and 
permanently — so  that  in  sleep,  the  motions  of  thought  and  will  not  being  organi 
cally  but  only  consciously  suspended,  need  to  be  maintained  and  kept  up  to  their 
proper  level,  and  that  this  is  the  office  of  the  cerebellum,  which  like  the  chain  and 
springs  of  a  watch,  not  only  regulate  its  movements,  but  prevent  it  from  running 
suddenly  down. 

J  While  an  exaggerated  importance  may  have  been  given  to  the  doctrine  of  Cell 
Formation,  the  truth  of  it  seems  to  be  well  established.  The  statement  of  Virchow 
that  "  Every  animal  presents  itself  as  a  sum  of  vital  unities,  every  one  of  which 
manifests  all  the  characteristics  of  life,"  although  hypothetical,  at  least  in  part,  is 
a  convenient  formula  for  explaining  many  vital  phenomena  observed  both  in 
health  and  disease.  Receiving  it,  it  certainly  justifies  the  figure  here  used— the 
bee  working  with  a  blind  instinct,  being  compared  to  that  organic  intelligence, 
which  resident  in  each  cell  presides  over  the  functions  of  nutrition,  secretion  and 
elimination. 


THE    MICROCOSM.  47 

Spiritual  Analogies. 

As  light  to  Eye,  so  to  the  Soul,  in  sooth, 
The  light  of  God,  the  higher  light  of  Truth. 
How,  when  man  fell,  his  dark  and  hungry  eyes 
Looked  for  the  sunrise  in  the  eastern  skies  ! 
Filled  with  all  doubt,  and  wandering  forlorn, 
Watching  for  signs  of  the  delaying  morn  ! 
Ah  !   should  it  never  break,  the  stumbling  feet 
Go  stumbling  onward  to  the  Judgment  Seat  ; 
And  toward  the  guilty,  should  there  be  no  ruth 
In  the  just  bosom  of  the  God  of  Truth  ; 
Those  images  of  horror  and  affright, 
Projected  on  the  canvas  of  the  night, 
Should  aye  be  present,  wheresoe'er  he  turn, 
And  God's  fierce  anger  never  cease  to  burn  ! 
Ah!  when  the  parting  heavens  some  gleam  let  through, 
Some  gleam  of  promise  shining  through  the  blue, 
Ah,  more  !  when  that  the  Dayspring  from  on  high 
Told  that  the  Sun  of  Righteousness  was  nigh  ; — 
Waving  glad  wings  of  many  colored  flame, 
Fore-running  angels  certified  He  came  ; 
Then  most  of  all,  when  following  full  soon, 
Upon  his  midnight  burst  eternal  noon  ; 


48  THE    MICROCOSM. 

How  to  the  heavenly  host  his  pulses  beat, 
Timed  to  the  music  of  their  marching  feet ! 

Congenital  Blindness — Awards  of  the  Last  Day. 

Alas,  for  those,  who,  haply  blind  from  birth, 
Have  never  seen  the  loveliness  of  earth  ; 
To  whose  rapt  gaze,  the  spectacle  ne'er  given 
Of  all  the  dread  magnificence  of  heaven  ; 
One  mighty  blank,  one  universal  black, 
The  moving  wonders  of  the  Zodiac  ; 
The  constellations  from  their  fixed  abode, 
Shed  no  sweet  influence  on  their  darkling  road  : 
Their  rolling  eyeballs  turn,  and  find  no  ray  ; 
An  unknown  joy,  the  blessedness  of  day. 

Between  the  man,  who,  in  his  neighbor's  grief, 
With  swiftest  pity,  flies  to  his  relief  ; 
And  him,  whose  cruel  and  unnatural  part 
It  is  to  plague  and  wring  his  brother's  heart, 
How  deep  the  gulf  ?  how  different  the  award 
At  the  great  final  coming  of  the  Lord  ! 
In  the  Last  Judgment,  all  the  world  shall  hear 
The  silent  thunder  prisoned  in  a  tear — * 

*  Faraday  has  shown  by  the  most  conclusive  experiments  that  the  electricity 
which  decomposes,  and  that  which  is  evolved  by  the  decomposition  of  a  certain 
quantity  of  matter  are  alike.  A  single  drop  of  water  therefore  contains  as  much 
electricity  as  could  be  accumulated  in  800,000  Leyden  jars— a  quantity  equal  to 
that  which  is  developed  from  a  charged  thunder-cloud. 


THE    MICROCOSM.  49 

The  pent  up  wrath  shall  strike  the  tyrant  there, 
Who  would  not  pity,  and  who  would  not  spare. 

Asylums  for  the  Blind. 

Thou,  who  wert  styled  th'  Apostle  of  the  Blind, 
No  bays  too  green,  thine  honored  brows  to  bind, 
Who  toiled  and  sacrificed  beyond  the  sea — 
'Tis  right  to  name  thee,  Valentin  Haiiy  !* 
To  render  happier  a  cheerless  lot  ; 
Enrich  with  knowledge  those  who  have  it  not  ; 
To  pour  new  light  into  the  darkened  mind, 
And  force  an  entrance  where  it  none  can  find  ; 
By  novel  methods,  and  ingenious  tools, 
Imparting  all  the  learning  of  the  schools  ; 
For  loss  of  one,  obtaining  recompense 
In  the  perfection  of  another  sense  ; — 
Inspiring  music,  bringing  heaven  so  near 
They  almost  think  they  see  it,  as  they  hear — 


*  Louis  IX.,  better  known  as  St.  Louis,  in  1260  founded  the  Hospice  des  Quinze 
Vingts  at  Paris — designed,  as  its  name  implies,  originally  for  15  score  or  300  per 
sons — which  still  exists.  This  is  believed  to  have  been  the  first  public  provision 
ever  made  for  the  Hlind.  It  was  solely  eleemosynary.  No  instruction  was  at 
tempted.  Although  in  the  i6th  century  attempts  were  made  to  print  for  the 
Blind  in  intaglio  and  afterwards  in  relief,  nothing  material  was  accomplished, 
till  1784,  when  Valentin  Haiiy,  "the  apostle  of  the  blind"  as  the  French  named 
him,  commenced  his  arduous,  and  self-denying  labors,  and  laid  the  foundations  of 
the  modern  system.  His  pupils  became  eminent  as  musicians  or  mathematicians. 


50  THE    MICROCOSM. 

Is  like  that  work,  in  kind  if  not  degree, 
Done  Bartimeus,  when  Christ  made  him  see. 

Asylums  for  the  Deaf  and  Dumb. 

Not  less  their  praise,  nor  less  their  high  reward, 
Th'  unequaled  heroes  of  a  task  more  hard, 
Enthusiasts,  who  labored  to  bridge  o'er 
The  gulf  of  silence,  never  passed  before, 
To  reach  the  solitaire,  who  lived  apart,* 
Cut  off  from  commerce  with  the  human  heart ; 
To  whom  had  been,  all  goings  on  below, 
A  ceremonious  and  unmeaning  show  ; 
Men  met  in  council,  on  occasions  proud, 
Nought  but  a  mouthing  and  grimacing  crowd  ; 


*The  possibility  of  teaching  the  Deaf  and  Dumb  was  never  conceived  by  the  an 
cients.  Useless  to  the  State,  their  destruction  in  infancy  was  even  connived  at ;  and 
they  were  classed  legally  with  idiots  and  the  insane.  Plunged  in  a  night  of  the 
profoundest  ignorance,  sitting  apart  in  utter  loneliness,  their  state  was  the  saddest 
possible.  Attempts  to  instruct  them  belong  mostly  to  modern  times.  Three  sys 
tems  have  been  adopted  in  different  countries.  i.  That  of  Wallis,  Pereira 
Heinicke  and  Braidwood,  which  falsely  assumed  that  while  signs  may  give  vague 
ideas  there  can  be  no  precision  without  words.  Consequently  the  first  years  under 
this  system  were  devoted  almost  wholly  to  learning  articulation  and  reading  on 
the  lip.  2.  That  of  abbd  De  I'Epe'e  as  improved  by  Sicard  and  Bebian,  which 
proceeds  on  the  directly  opposite  theory  that  there  is  na  idea  which  may  not  be 
expressed  by  signs  without  words.  Sign  language  has  the  important  advantage, 
besides  many  others  that  might  be  named,  of  being  universal.  3.  The  American 
system,which  is  a  further  modification  of  De  1'Epee's.  The  number  of  deaf-mutes 
who  have  distinguished  themselves  in  science  and  art  is  already  quite  consider 
able.  My  friend,  Mr.  John  R.  Burnet,  farmer  and  author,  living  at  Livingston, 
N.  J.,  is  one  of  the  best  informed  men  in  the  State. 


THE    MICROCOSM.  51 

And  all  the  great  transactions  of  the  time, 
An  idle  scene  or  puzzling  pantomime. 
Children  of  silence  !  deaf  to  every  sound 
That  trembles  in  the  atmosphere  around, 
Now  far  more  happy — dancing  ripples  break 
Upon  the  marge  of  that  once  stagnant  lake, 
Aye  by  fresh  breezes  overswept,  and  stirred 
With  the  vibrations  of  new  thoughts  conferred. 
No  more  your  minds  are  heathenish  and  dumb, 
Now  that  the  word  of  truth  and  grace  has  come  ; 
Your  silent  praise,  that  penitential  tear, 
Are  quite  articulate  to  your  Saviour's  ear. 

Hearing — Powers  of  Sound — Music  of  Nature. 

Within  a  bony  labyrinthean  cave, 
Reached  by  the  pulse  of  the  aerial  wave, 
This  sibyl,  sweet,  and  mystic  Sense  is  found, 
Muse,  that  presides  o'er  all  the  Powers  of  Sound. 
Viewless  and  numberless,  these  everywhere 
Wake  to  the  finest  tremble  of  the  air  ; 
Now  from  some  mountain  height  are  heard  to  call  ; 
Now  from  the  bottom  of  some  waterfall; 
Now  faint  and  far,  now  louder  and  more  near, 
With  varying  cadence  musical  and  clear  ; 


52  THE    MICROCOSM. 

Heard  in  the  brooklet  murmuring  o'er  the  lea  ; 

Heard  in  the  roar  of  the  resounding  sea  ; 

Heard  in  the  thunder  rolling  through  the  sky  ; 

Heard  in  the  little  insect  chirping  nigh  ; 

The  winds  of  winter  wailing  through  the  woods  ; 

The  mighty  laughter  of  the  vernal  floods  ; 

The  rain-drops'  showery  dance  and  rhythmic  beat, 

With  twinkling  of  innumerable  feet  ; 

Pursuing  echoes  calling  'mong  the  rocks  ; 

Lowing  of  herds,  and  bleating  of  the  flocks  ; 

The  tender  nightingale's  melodious  grief  ; 

The  sky-lark's  warbled  rapture  of  belief — 

Arrow  of  praise,  direct  from  Nature's  quiver, 

Sent  duly  up  to  the  Almighty  Giver. 

Music  of  Art — Instrumental  and  Vocal. 

If  once,  ye  Powers,  with  reeds,  a  rustic  Pan, 
Ye  tuned  idyllic  minstrelsies  for  man, 
These  thin  dilutions  of  the  soul  of  song, 
Ye  have  abandoned,  and  abandoned  long. 
Sweet  as  the  spheral  music  of  the  skies, 
The  thunder  of  your  later  harmonies. 
O  fill  the  void  capacious  atmosphere 
With  your  full  sum,  and  pour  it  in  the  ear  ; 


THE    MICROCOSM.  53 

Drown  it  with  melody,  nor  let  it  wade 

Longer  in  shallows,  of  the  deep  afraid. 

Join  to  all  instruments  of  wind  and  cords 

The  poetry  and  excellence  of  words. 

If  Country  calls,  put  in  the  Trumpet's  throat 

A  loud  and  stirring  and  a  warlike  note  ; 

And  let  there  follow  an  inspiring  blast, 

As  the  long  file  of  heroes  hurries  past ; 

Then  raise  th*  exultant  clamor  to  its  height, 

When  crowned  as  victors,  they  return  from  fight. 

Because  the  service  God  demands  of  men 

Is  not  an  intermittent  thing  of  now  and  then, 

Temples  of  permanence  we  rightly  raise, 

For  the  perpetual  purposes  of  praise, 

And  build  great  Organs,  in  whose  tubes  of  sound, 

Sleeping  or  waking,  ye  are  always  found. 

Awake  !  prepare  Te  Deums  !  now  awake  ! 

Wave  your  great  wings  till  all  the  building  shake  ! 

Rend  the  low  roof,  and  rend  the  vault  of  heaven, 

Bearing  the  rapture  of  a  soul  forgiven  ! 

Voice — Air  of  Expiration,  Its   Transmutations. 

Wonderful  instrument,  but  not  so  choice 
As  is  the  Organ  of  the  HUMAN  VOICE, 


54  THE    MICROCOSM. 

What  compact  proof  of  Heavenly  Power  and  Skill, 

When  simplest  means  sublimest  ends  fulfill  ! 

That  two-stringed  Lyre — quick  strung  to  every  note, 

Placed  at  the  windy  entrance  of  the  throat, 

With  a  divine  economy  of  room, 

So  placed  it  might  the  smallest  space  consume, 

There  where  the  aerial  currents  come  and  go, 

To  feed  the  vital  fires  that  burn  below, 

And  with  a  quickening  purifying  force, 

The  blood  to  freshen  in  its  onward  course — 

Taking  the  waste,  effete  and  useless  breath, 

Charged  with  the  very  element  of  death, 

Converts  it  into  music,  glorious  shapes 

Of  power  and  beauty,  ere  that  breath  escapes. 

A  transformation  marvelous  and  strange, 

Unequaled,  in  the  Alchemy  of  change  ; 

Harmonious  forces  working  to  condense 

The  blazing  jewels  of  intelligence  ; 

Diamonds  more  rich  than  proudest  monarchs  wear, 

Formed  from  the  gaseous  carbon  of  the  air  ; 

Th'  imperial  currency  of  human  wit, 

Image  and  superscription  stamped  on  it, 

Coined  from  the  atmosphere — th'  exhaustless  mine 

Of  golden  treasures  magical  and  fine — 


THE    MICROCOSM.  55 

Chief  circulating  medium  of  thought, 

And  common  mintage  by  which  truth  is  bought, 

And  wisdom  in  its  infinite  supply, 

Stored  in  th'  invisible  market  of  the  sky  ! 

Speech,  Accountable  Self-recording — Mathematical  Problem. 

O  Heart  and  Mouth,  in  strictest  wedlock  bound, 
Whence  spring  th'  immortal  births  of  soul  and  sound  ! 
Winged  for  far  flight,  your  moral  offspring  sweep 
The  airy  fields  of  the  cerulean  deep, 
Up  to  the  awful  place,  where  Judgment  waits 
Within  Eternity's  tremendous  gates. 

Philosophy  itself  may  serve  to  teach, 
No  power  so  fearful  as  the  Power  of  Speech. 
The  idle  word,  which  nothing  can  recall, 
Breaks  sacred  silence  thrilling  through  the  All  ; 
Yea,  like  a  pebble  dropped  into  the  sea, 
Ripples  the  ocean  of  immensity  ; 
An  oath  profane,  the  horror  of  a  lie, 
The  shuddering  Ether  bears  beyond  the  sky  : 
Sounding  through  height  and  depth,  its  way  it  takes 
To  distant  spheres,  and  endless  echoes  wakes  ; 
After  long  ages,  still  can  be  inferred, 
The  sense  arid  nature  of  each  uttered  word, 


56  THE^  MICROCOSM. 

Declared  in  postured  particles,  because 
The  dance  of  atoms  is  by  rhythmic  laws  : 
For  that  another  cannot  be  the  same, 
God  calls  each  atom  by  a  different  name  ; 
Makes  these  an  alphabet,  by  which  to  spell 
Each  sentence  spoken,  and  each  syllable  ; 
Beyond  the  power  of  parchment,  or  of  pen, 
Expounding  all  the  utterances  of  men.* 

Its  Social  Uses — The    Word  made  Flesh. 

Most  genial  of  the  faculties  is  this, 
And  most  subservient  to  social  bliss  ; 
Fulfills  the  longing  as  no  other  can, 
When  man  would  manifest  himself  to  man  ; 

*  Mr.  Charles  Babbage— an  English  Mathematician  of  the  first  rank,  formerly 
Lucasian  Professor  of  Mathematics  at  Cambridge,  the  Chair  of  Newton,  famous 
also  as  the  inventor  of  a  Calculating  Machine,  built  at  a  cost  to  the  English 
Government  of  $85,000,  followed  by  another,  involving  a  still  heaver  outlay — in  a 
work  styled  "The  Ninth  Bridgewater  Treatise,"  published  in  1838,  filled  with 
much  original  and  quaint  speculation,  expresses  his  faith  in  the  startling  doctrine 
that  no  word  or  action  can  ever  be  eliminated  from  the  records  of  Nature,  but 
that  the  air  is  a  "  vast  library,"  in  whose  pages  are  forever  written  all  that  man 
has  ever  said  or  woman  whispered,  inasmuch  as  the  aeria!  pulses  which  seemed  to 
have  died  out  completely  might  yet  be  demonstrated  by  human  reason  to  exist. 
So  of  the  ocean.  A  being  possessed  of  unbounded  powers  of  mathematical  analysis 
might  trace  the  results  of  any  impulse  on  the  fluid,  or  read  back  the  history  of  the 
sea  in  its  own  billows.  And  so  too,  the  solid  frame  of  the  earth  may  serve  as  a 
stereotyped  record  both  of  the  transactions  and  the  proceedings  of  its  inhabitants; 
for  not  only  the  heavings  of  the  greatest  earthquakes,  but  the  little  local  tremors 
which  the  stamp  of  a  human  foot  may  produce,  may  all  be  said  to  have  left  their 
memorials  in  the  ground.  Heaven  and  earth  are  therefore  prepared  to  bear  wit 
ness  against  the  transgressor  on  the  Day  of  Judgment.  Terrible  thoughts  these, 
but  what  if  they  are  true  ? 


THE    MICROCOSM.  57 

The  isolated  soul  shut  up  no  more 

Walks  freely  forth  as  through  an  open  door. 

Vainly  in  inarticulate  dumb  show, 
Had  Nature  strove  to  teach  man  here  below  ; 
When  finding  that  intended  to  reveal, 
Served  but  the  more  His  presence  to  conceal, 
God  put  aside  the  Vesture  of  the  Skies, 
And  walked  and  talked  with  men  in  Human  Guise  : 
Th'  apocalyptic  Word  made  Flesh,  made  thus 
Communicated  Godhead — GOD  WITH  Us. 

A  r  tic  illation — Nose — Mouth — Smell —  Taste. 

Behold  how  man,  the  polyglot,  employs 
Th'  uncompounded  elemental  noise  ! 
Makes  endless  permutations,  mixes  breath 
For  nice  intonings  of  each  shibboleth  ! 
Up  from  the  Throat,  one  little  step,  we  reach 
The  cunning  moulds  and  matrices  of  speech  ; 
Formless  and  void  the  vocal  chaos  flows, 
Shaped  into  Language  by  the  Mouth  and  Nose  ; 
Mellifluous  modulations  taking  place, 
In  scented  caverns  of  the  hollow  face  ; 
Sweet  mobile  Lips,  Teeth,  Palate,  flavorous  Tongue, 
Making  intelligible  the  speaking  Lung  ; 


58  THE    MICROCOSM. 

Aiders  of  Speech,  but  then  the  seats  as  well 
Of  the  two  senses  of  the  Taste  and  Smell. 

Smell — Odors,    Their  Subtlety  and  Imponderability. 

The  Nerves  of  Smell,  the  first  the  brain  to  leave, 
Combed  and  divided  through  a  bony  sieve,* 
They,  from  their  tresses  of  disheveled  hair, 
Shake  out  the  tangled  fragrance  of  the  air. 
Conversant  with  all  sweetness — Nature  brings 
Hither  the  soul  and  quintessence  of  things  ; 
Airy  solutions  of  the  finer  powers, 
Imponderable  properties  of  flowers  ; 
Th'  aroma  of  all  seasons  and  all  times, 
Kingdoms  of  nature,  continents  and  climes — 
Too  subtle  and  too  spiritual,  I  ween, 
These  for  analysis  however  keen. 
Daintiest  of  senses,  daintily  it  feeds 
On  thymy  pastures  of  the  skyey  meads, 
Drinks  from  etherial  fountains,  whence  are  quaffed 
Delicious  lungfulls  at  one  mighty  draught, 
Cheering  the  breast,  and  sweetening  all  the  blood, 
Like  some  celestial  minister  of  good. 

*  The  ethmoid  bone  (from  IjOflOf,  "a  sieve,"  and  fltiof,  "  form"). 


THE    MICROCOSM.  59 

Breath  of  Life,  Natural  and  Spiritual. 

God  breathed,  O  breath  with  heavenly  sweetness  rife  ! 
Into  man's  nostrils  first  the  breath  of  life. 
The  blissful  aura  vivified  the  whole, 
And  straightway  man  became  a  living  soul. 
Then  odorous  Eden  yet  more  odorous  grew, 
As  o'er  its  bowers,  th'  informing  Spirit  blew 
Another  inner  and  diviner  air, 
Moving  within  the  proper  atmosphere, 
That  shook  the  leaves  and  made  the  tree-tops  nod, 
A  mystic  wind  immediately  from  God, — 
Rushing  and  mighty  like  the  Holy  Ghost 
Poured  out  upon  the  day  of  Pentecost. 
Still  the  same  Spirit  where  it  lists  it  blows, 
We  know  not  whence  it  comes  nor  where  it  goes, 
But  souls  it  quickened  on  Creation's  morn, 
Now  dead  in  sin  to  a  new  life  are  born  : 
One  inspiration  of  immortal  breath 
Creates  a  life  beneath  the  ribs  of  death. 

Theopneusty. 

O  via  sacra,  O  thrice  blessed  door, 
Once  hallowed  with  Thy  presence,  hallow,  Lord  !  once 
more. 


60  THE    MICROCOSM, 

Inbreathe  Thyself,  my  Maker  !  fill  each  cell 

Of  my  deep  breast,  and  deign  with  me  to  dwell. 

Come,  my  Desire  !     Thou  theme  of  heavenly  tongues, 

Fulfill  the  want  and  hunger  of  the  lungs. 

Be  Thou  my  breath,  my  laughter,  my  delight, 

My  song  by  day,  my  murmured  dream  by  night. 

When  hope  dilates,  and  love  my  bosom  warms, 

Be  these  the  product  of  Thy  powerful  charms. 

If  grief  convulses,  be  it  grief  for  sin, 

Prompt  every  sigh  and  make  me  pure  within  ; 

Perfumed  by  Thee  "  make  every  breath  a  spice 

And  each  religious  act  a  sacrifice." 

Taste — Elimination  and  Waste — Nothing  Lost. 

We  eat  to  live  :    the  Gustatory  Sense 
(The  same  as  Smell,  but  with  a  difference) 
At  the  pleased  portal  of  the  hungry  throat, 
From  endless  sources,  neighboring  and  remote, 
Assembles  relishes,  and  daily  feeds 
On  these  to  satisfy  the  body's  needs. 
Each  moment,  lo  !   we  die  and  are  reborn  ;  * 
The  old  becomes  cadaverous  and  outworn  ; 

*  "  Occasio  enim  praeceps  est  propter  artis  materiam,  dico  autem  corpus,  quod 
continue  fluit  et  memento  temporis  transmutatur." — Galen. 


THE    MICROCOSM.  61 

Beyond  the  boundary  of  our  every  breath, 
Wide  yawns  the  open  sepulchre  of  death  ; 
Parts  of  our  living  selves  give  up  the  ghost  ; 
Corrupt,  corrupting,  use  and  function  lost, 
Benignant  Nature  with  victorious  force 
Effects  deliverance  from  the  loathed  corse 
And  body  of  this  death  ;    in  ceaseless  flow, 
Fun'ral  processions  of  dead  atoms  go, 
Thronging  life's  ways  and  outward  opening  gates, 
All  unattended,  where  no  mourner  waits. 
Because  the  quick  have  duties,  let  the  dead 
Bury  their  dead,  the  Lord  of  life  hath  said. 
No  fear  that  needful  ministry  or  rite 
Shall  then  be  wanting  when  they  pass  from  sight ; 
Sown  on  the  winds  or  swallowed  of  the  waves 
They  shall  not  fail  of  hospitable  graves. 
Dear  to  terrestial  and  celestial  powers, 
Through  every  moment  of  the  flying  hours, 
Earth,  careful  mother,  to  her  bosom  draws 
Each  reverent  particle  subject  to  her  laws  ; 
Dust  welcomes  dust,  and  all  the  happy  ground 
Rejoices  that  the  lost  again  is  found. 
Again  it  forms  a  portion  of  the  mould 
To  tread  the  circle  it  fulfilled  of  old. 


62  THE    MICROCOSM. 

Again  it  ministers  to  the  thirsty  root, 
Mounts  to  the  blossom  and  matures  the  fruit ; 
Eaten  again,  again  it  makes  a  part, 
Or  of  the  thinking  brain  or  feeling  heart. 

Human    Want  and  Divine  Supply. 

Because  we  ne'er  continue  in  one  stay — 
Our  flowing  lives  still  wash  their  banks  away  ; 
This  colliquation  of  unstable  flesh, 
Invades  the  old  and  scarcely  spares  the  fresh  ; 
The  new  formed  solid,  even,  oozes  through, 
"  Thaws  and  resolves  itself  into  a  dew  ;  " 
And  all  is  flux,  and  out  ten  thousand  doors 
Our  manly  strength  perpetually  pours — 
We  Hunger  and  We  Thirst,  and  all  abroad 
We  see  spread  out  the  mighty  Feast  of  God. 
Abounding  plenty  equal  to  the  waste 
With  luscious  adaptations  to  the  taste  ; 
Viands  heaped  up  in  such  seductive  guise, 
Forestalling  pleasure  looks  with  sparkling  eyes 
The  golden  produce  of  the  garnered  fields, 
Whate'er  the  valley  or  the  mountain  yields, 
The  juicy  tops  of  Nature,  not  that  found 
In  the  dark  mineral  lumpish   underground. 


THE    MICROCOSM.  63 

By  intermediate  vegetative  toil, 

And  much  elaboration  of  the  soil, 

Lifted  in  air  and  glowing  in  the  sun, 

We  pluck  the  fruit  then  when  the  work  is  done. 

In  curious  quest  of  every  dainty  known, 

We  draw  from  every  month  and  every  zone. 

To  pile  our  boards,  the  canvas  is  unfurled 

Of  more  than  half  the  navies  of  the  world. 

Art  intervenes,  and  as  the  case  requires, 

Concocts  the  crude  with  culinary  fires  ; 

Goes  forth  in  nature  to  extend  her  range, 

And  serve  man's  love  of  novelty  and  change, 

By  findings  of  manipulative  skill, 

Testings  and  tastings,  mixing  at  her  will 

Of  all  the  kingdoms,  flavorings  of  the  same, 

And  seasonings  of  vegetable  flame. 

Imperious  Wants  !  obedient  to  whose  call, 

Armies  capitulate,  dynasties  fall : 

Howe'er  the  rulers  of  the  earth  combine, 

They  may  not  blink  the  fact  that  man  must  dine. 

It  might  seem  little  and  beneath  God's  care — 
A  punctual  ordering  of  man's  common  fare  ; 
Unwarranted,  extravagant,  absurd, 
To  think  our  Pater  Nosters  could  be  heard — 


64  THE    MICROCOSM. 

Did  we  not  know  that  round  our  every  meal 
Suns  wait  and  serve  and  mighty  planets  wheel. 

Lord 's  Prayer — Hodiernal  Bread — Hygienic  Wisdom. 

Father  in  heaven,  hallowed  be  Thy  name — 
'Tis  on  Thy  fatherhood  we  build  our  claim — 
Stoop  to  our  needs,  we  cannot  else  be  fed, 
Give  us  this  day,  as  erst,  our  daily  bread. 
Preserve  us  from  perversion  and  abuse, 
Turning  Thy  bounties  from  their  proper  use  ; 
From  gluttony  and  criminal  excess, 
Making  enough  our  rule,  nor  more  nor  less. 
Instruct  us  how  to  choose,  lest  that  we  sin 
Against  the  body's  health,  the  powers  within, 
Awful  economies  and  sacred  laws, 
Of  half  our  miseries  the  dreadful  cause. 
May  we  live  innocent  as  at  the  first, 
Using  safe  beverages  to  quench  our  thirst, 
Our  common  drink  be  water  from  the  well, 
Not  brewed  enchantments  of  the  fires  of  hell, 
Not  tasting  unblest  cups,  by  Thee  unblest, 
But  where  Satanic  benedictions  rest, 
Cursing  and  killing,  maddening  the  brain — 
Brief  joy  succeeded  by  eternal  pain. 


THE    MICROCOSM.  65 

Ingestion — Digestion — Assimilation. 

Be  in  our  Mouths  to  sanctify  our  Food  ; 
Begin  the  process  changing  it  to  Blood. 
We  dare  not  call  that  common  and  unclean 
Which  Thou  hast  cleansed — nor  count  that  longer  mean 
So  honored  by  assimilations  grand, 
And  exaltations  of  Thine  own  right  hand, 
As  through  the  channels  of  the  body  rolled, 
Th'  ingested  Morsel  comes  to  be  ensouled. 
Wherefore  be  present,  every  step  attend 
Of  its  miraculous  progress  to  the  end. 
During  the  perilous  passage  of  the  strait, 
O  keep  fast  shut  the  Laryngeal  Gate  : 
Adown  the  Throat  while  that  it  gently  glides, 
And  in  the  Stomach's  secret  chamber  hides, 
Be  there  to  entertain  th'  expected  guest, 
And  to  the  welcome  give  a  keener  zest. 
Make  the  couch  ready  :    and  mid  veiling  gloom, 
And  holy  privacy  as  in  a  womb, 
Induct  into  the  mysteries  of  the  place  . 
Rain  down  celestial  influence  and  grace 
Upon  the  nascent  neophyte  ;    prepare 
The  lavers  of  regeneration  ;    where 
5 


66  THE   MICROCOSM. 

By  wondrous  saturations*  for  a  time, 

And  fresh  baptisms  of  the  new-born  Chyme 

A  part  all  purified,  from  soil  purged  clear, 

Made  meet  and  worthy  of  a  higher  sphere, 

Enters  the  veins  and  mingles  with  the  blood  ; 

The  rest  a  stained  probationary  flood, 

Passing  the  Gate  Pyloric  waits  awhile, 

Its  transformation  into  purer  Chyle. 

Prosper  and  bless  and  let  the  work  proceed, 

Each  faithful  function  equal  to  the  need  ; 

Teach  the  strict  Lacteals,  duly  this  to  guide 

Into  the  narrow  way  from  out  the  wide, 

Where  freed  from  feculence  all  white  and  clean, 

And  trained,  through  mazes  of  the  Glands  between, 

For  saintly  fellowship  and  spousals  sweet 

With  the  dear  Lymph,  as  they  together  meet 

Within  the  Duct  Thoracic,  mount  to  gain 

The  level  of  the  pierced  Subclavian  Vein — 

Tempering  the  mass,  to  form  a  fluid  part 

Of  that  humanitv  which  fills  the  Heart. 


*  The  Gastric  Juice,  like  the  saliva,  is  not  secreted  in  considerable  quantity  (Dr. 
Beaumont  says  not  at  all)  except  under  the  stimulus  of  recently  ingested  food.  It 
is  estimated  that  the  average  total  quantity  secreted  in  a  man  of  medium  size  in  24 
hours  is  14  pounds,  equal  to  nearly  two  gallons.  This  quantity  would  be  altogether 
incredible,  were  it  not,  that  as  soon  as  it  has  dissolved  its  quota  of  food,  it  is 
immediately  re-absorbed  and  agains  enters  into  the  circulation,  together  with  the 
alimentary  substances  which  it  holds  in  solution. —Dalton. 


THE    MICROCOSM.  67 

Heart —  Circulation — Nutrition — Blood  Exhilarations. 

Make  room,  my  HEART  !*  that  pour'st  thyself  abroad, 
Deep,  central,  awful  mystery  of  God  ! 
Lord  of  my  bosom  !  wonder  of  the  breast ! 
Welcome  the  coming,  speed  the  parting  guest :" 
The  young  white  blood,  commingled  with  the  old — 
Purple,  impure,  effete  in  part,  and  cold — 
Give  needful  furtherance  through  the  Lungs,  to  where 
It  meets  the  fiery  spirits  of  the  air — 
In  friendly  barter  with  the  growing  plants 
Exchanging  what  they  need  for  what  it  wants  ; 
For  dingy  carbon,  refuse  of  the  frame, 
Receiving  back  the  principle  of  flame  ; 
While  mystic  cerebrations  downward  pour 
The  human  flood  to  humanize  yet  more, 
Making  it  moral,  with  all  passions  rife, 
Instinct  with  mortal  and  immortal  life  ; 


*  In  the  Fish,  the  Heart  is  a  single  organ,  having  one  Auricle  and  one  Ventri 
cle.  In  Reptiles,  it  has  two  Auricles  placed  side  by  side,  and  one  Ventricle.  In 
Quadrupeds  and  Man  it  is  double,  with  two  Auricles  and  two  Ventricles  ;  and 
there  are  two  distinct  Circulations — the  General  or  Systemic,  and  Pulmonary. 
The  blood  on  the  Right  Side  of  the  Heart,  whether  found  in  the  Veins  or  Arter 
ies,  is  dark  or  venous ;  on  the  Left,  it  is  ruddy  and  bright  or  arterial.  The  first 
belongs  to  the  nocturnal  side  or  hemisphere ;  the  latter  to  the  diurnal — the  sun 
having  its  rising  in  the  capillaries  of  the  lungs,  and  its  setting  in  those  of  the 
general  system — where  the  blood  loses  for  the  time  its  auroral  bloom  and  splendor 
and  becomes  dark,  half  devitalized  and  charged  with  deadly  poison,  until  having 
completed  its  circuit,  its  pristine  glitter  and  beauty  are  once  more  restored,  as  it 


68  THE   MICROCOSM. 

Transfigured  thus,  thus  raised  and  glorified, 

Complete  the  circle  on  the  other  side, 

Where  Auricle  and  Ventricle  with  power 

Repeat  their  grasp  five  thousand  times  an  hour  ; 

Closing  unresting  hands  that  never  tire 

On  the  one  passionate  object  of  desire  ; 

And  through  each  moment  of  the  night  and  day 

A  traveling  joy  to  every  part  convey  ; 

Filling  each  cell  of  all  the  Organs  up, 

As  wine  is  poured  into  a  jeweled  cup, 

With  the  Falernian  of  the  grapes  of  Heaven, 

The  living  Blood  miraculously  given — 

Endued  with  plenteous  power  by  which  it  can 

Rebuild  the  complex  of  the  perfect  man  ; 

To  every  organ  like  to  like  impart, 

Distribute  brain  to  brain  and  heart  to  heart ; 


reappears  on  the  horizon  of  the  lungs.  The  rapidity  with  which  the  Blood  moves 
is  very  great.  Even  in  Arteries  of  the  minutest  size  it  is  so  rapid  that  the  glob 
ules  cannot  be  distinguished  in  it  on  microscopic  examination.  It  is  slower  in  the 
Veins  than  in  the  Arteries,  in  the  proportion  of  two  to  three,  and  still  slower  in 
the  Capillaries.  Volkman  estimates  the  velocity  in  the  arteries  at  12  inches  per 
second  ;  in  veins  at  8  inches ;  in  capillaries,  i-3oth  of  an  inch.  Experiments  have 
been  made  to  ascertain  the  time  it  takes  the  blood  to  pass  the  entire  round  of  the 
circulation.  Traces  of  a  solution  of  Ferrocyanide  of  Potassium  introduced  into  the 
right  jugular  vein  of  a  horse  appeared  at  the  left  in  twenty  to  twenty-five  sec 
onds,  but  this  is  not  decisive  of  the  rate  of  the  circulation,  only  of  the  diffusion. 
Results  swarm  with  every  heart-beat.  Life's  innumerable  wheels,  revolving  all 
at  once  in  every  organ,  make  that  beat  representative  of  a  life-time —  a  century  of 
existence  being  no  more  than  a  calculable  number  of  repetitions  of  that  vital 
second. 


THE    MICROCOSM.  69 

Conquer  the  years,  the  wastes  of  time  repair ; 
Add  to  the  body,  make  the  fair  more  fair : 
Nor  potent  less  to  raise  to  loftiest  heights 
Of  sensuous  pleasures  and  divine  delights — 
Untied  to  fleshy  ministrations — fraught 
With  stimulant  to  Feeling  and  to  Thought, 
Our  Ganymede,  enlivening  with  full  bowl 
"  The  feast  of  reason  and  the  flow  of  soul." 

Heart — Seat  of  the  Affections — Visceral  Modifications. 

Undoubted  Sovereign,  worthiest  to  reign, 
Sharer  of  empire  with  the  regal  Brain  ! 
(Like  omnipresent  in  the  realms  of  sense, 
Found  at  the  centre  and  circumference, 
As  if  by  multiplication,  every  part 
Possessed  a  sensory  and  beating  heart) 
By  virtue  of  thy  birthright  from  above 
Thine  all  the  high  prerogatives  of  LOVE. 
One  with  thyself,  Love's  ample  power  display, 
Assert  its  right  to  universal  sway  ! 
As  thou,  so  Love  is  many  and  yet  one, 
Its  royal  robes  of  soul  and  body  spun — 
Assorted  vestments,  filling  many  a  room, 
The  beauteous  product  of  the  living  loom, 


70  THE    MICROCOSM. 

By  the  deft  fingers  of  the  feelings  wrought 
Plying  the  shuttle  with  the  helping  thought — 
The  several  organs,  to  their  nature  true, 
Giving  each  tunic  its  distinctive  hue, 
One  of  the  colors  of  refracted  light, 
Or  the  chaste  total  of  religious  white — 
Defining  Loves,  all  Family  Loves  that  bind, 
The  Love  of  Country,  Love  of  Human  Kind, 
The  Love  of  God  all  other  Loves  above, 
The  Love  of  Truth  and  Right,  the  Love  of  Love, 

Within,  what  gracious  sympathies  appeal  ! 
What  visceral  yearnings  do  not  mothers  feel  ! — 
The  conscious  vitals,  full  of  fond  alarms 
For  the  sweet  infant  folded  in  her  arms, 
And  melting  tendernesses,  that  impart 
Tears  to  the  eyes  but  laughter  to  the  heart. 

Woman — Sex — Unity  in  Difference. 

O  loving  Woman,  man's  fulfillment  sweet, 
Completing  him  not  otherwise  complete  ! 
How  void  and  useless  the  sad  remnant  left 
Were  he  of  her,  his  nobler  part  bereft ! 
Of  her  who  bears  the  sacred  name  of  Wife, 
The  joy  and  crown  and  glory  of  his  life, 


THE    MICROCOSM.  7* 

The  Mother  of  his  Children,  whereby  he 

Shall  live  in  far  off  epochs  yet  to  be. 

Conjoined  but  not  confounded,  side  by  side 

Lying  so  closely  nothing  can  divide  ; 

A  dual  self,  a  plural  unit,  twain, 

Except  in  sex,  to  be  no  more  again  ; 

Except  in  Sex — for  sex  can  nought  efface, 

Fixed  as  the  granite  mountain  on  its  base — 

But  not  for  this  less  one,  away  to  take 

This  sweet  distinction  were  to  mar  not  make. 

Dearer  for  difference  in  this  respect, 

As  means  of  rounding  mutual  defect. 

Woman  and  Man  all  social  needs  include  ; 

Earth  filled  with  men  were  still  a  solitude. 

In  vain  the  birds  would  sing,  in  vain  rejoice, 

Without  the  music  of  her  sweeter  voice. 

In  vain  the  stars  would  shine,  'twere  dark  the  while 

Without  the  light  of  her  superior  smile. 

To  blot  from  earth's  vocabularies  one 

Of  all  her  names  were  to  blot  out  the  sun. 

Lai'e  of  the  Sexes — Ends  Answered. 

O  wondrous  Hour,  supremest  hour  of  fate, 
When  first  the  Soul  discerns  its  proper  Mate, 


72  THE    MICROCOSM. 

By  inward  voices  known  as  its  elect — 

Distanced  by  love,  and  infinite  respect, 

Fairer  than  fairest,  shining  from  afar, 

Throned  in  the  heights,  a  bright  particular  star 

The  glory  of  the  firmament,  the  evening  sky 

Glad  with  the  lustre  of  her  beaming  eye. 

Young  Love,  First  Love,  Love,  haply  at  first  sight, 

Smites  likes  the  lightning,  dazzles  like  the  light ; 

Chance  meeting  eyes  shoot  forth  contagious  flame, 

Sending  the  hot  blood  wildly  through  the  frame. 

By  strange  enchantment  violently  strook, 

The  total  being  rushes  with  a  look  ; 

A  beauty  never  seen  before,  except  some  gleams 

Purpling  the  atmosphere  of  blissful  dreams, 

Wakens  rare  raptures  and  sensations  new, 

Both  soul  and  body  thrilling  through  and  through. 

Says  sage  Experience,  sighing  o'er  the  past, 
These  dear  illusions  will  not  always  last  ; 
For  beauty  fades  and  disappointment  clings 
To  the  reality  of  human  things. 
It  may  be  so — it  may  be,  lover's  sight 
Surveying  all  things  by  love's  purple  light, 
Sees  not  the  faults  possession  shall  disclose, 


X 


THE    MICROCOSM.  73 

Nor  the  sharp  thorn  concealed  beneath  the  rose. 

But  if  thus  Nature  her  great  ends  attain 

The  pomps  of  fancy  dazzle  not  in  vain. 

The  pleasing  falsehood  of  perfection  flits, 

But  not  the  Love,  that  in  contentment  sits 

Among  the  Dear  Ones  of  its  happy  home, 

Blest  with  sweet  foretastes  of  the  heaven  to  come. 

Deciduous  charms  of  face  unmissed  depart, 

While  bloom  the  fadeless  beauties  of  the  heart  ; 

Inward  conformity,  and  gradual  growth 

Of  moral  likeness,  tightening  bonds  of  both, 

Perfect  the  marriage,  which  was  but  begun 

Upon  that  day  they  were  pronounced  one. 

True  Lwe — Spurious  Love. 

True  Love  is  humble,  thereby  is  it  known, 
Girded  for  service,  seeking  not  its  own  ; 
Exalts  its  object,  timid  homage  pays, 
Vaunts  not  itself,  but  speaks  in  self-dispraise. 
"Look  not  on  me  ,"  it  says,  "for  'I  am  black, 
In  thee  all  fullness  is,  in  me  all  lack; 
But  what  I  have  and  am  are  wholly  thine, 
Vast  were  the  grace  would'st  thou  give  thine  for  mine." 


74  THE    MICROCOSM. 

Let  Love  but  enter,  it  converts  the  churl, 
And  makes  the  miser  lavish  as  an  earl ; 
The  strict  walls  of  his  prison,  giving  way, 
Fall  outward  and  let  in  the  light  of  day  ; 
Released  from  base  captivity  to  pelf, 
He  upwards  soars  into  a  nobler  self  ; 
And  hands,  that  once  did  nought  but  clutch  and  hoard 
Now  emulate  the  bounty  of  the  Lord  ; 
Hold  up  a  mirror,  that  reflects  the  face 
Of  Him  whose  heart  is  love  and  man-ward  grace. 

O  how  unlike  to  this,  so  chaste,  refined, 
Magnanimous,  benevolent  and  kind, 
Is  that  base  thing,  defiling  and  defiled, 
Born  of  unbridled  lusts  and  passions  wild, 
Which  soon  of  all  the  virtues  rings  the  knell 
And  sends  its  subjects  headlong  down  to  hell ! 
The  hidden  canker  of  a  vicious  heart 
Spreads  mortal  sickness  to  the  farthest  part  ; 
Th'  infected  body  rots  from  day  to  day 
Till  death  contemptuous  calls  the  soul  away, 
To  its  own  place  its  sentence  to  fulfill, 
"  Let  him  that  filthy  is  be  filthy  still." 


THE    MICROCOSM,  75 

Charity — Physician — Opiferque  per  Orbem  Dicor* 

O  ye,  devoted  to  the  Healing  Art, 
By  solemn  consecration,  set  apart 
To  be  the  ministers  of  God  above 
In  the  sublime  Activities  of  Love  ; 
Whose  special  function  'tis  to  give  relief 
In  the  dark  hours  of  suffering  and  of  grief  ; 
Between  the  living  and  the  dead  to  stand 
Where  fall  the  shafts  of  death  on  either  hand  ; 
Without  one  thought  of  flight,  to  still  maintain 
Perpetual  battle  with  the  Powers  of  Pain  ; 
With  a  fine  arrow  from  a  well  bent  bow 
Transfixing  fatally  the  murd'rous  foe  ; 
And  with  an  arm  made  powerful  to  save, 
Snatching  the  destined  victims  of  the  grave  ; — 
The  lofty  nature  of  your  office  such, 
You  cannot  magnify  the  same  too  much, 
Which  Tullyf  even,  eloquently  lauds, 
As  that  which  lifts  man  nearest  to  the  gods. 

*  This  motto  of  the  Medical  Society  of  New  Jersey  is  taken  from  the  fable  of 
Phoebus  and  Daphne  in  Ovid's  Metamorphoses,  Lib.  I.,  v.  521-522.  Phosbus  is  re 
presented  as  saying  : 

"  Inventum  medicina  meum  est ;  opiferquc  per  orbeni 
Dicor,  et  herbarum  subjecta  potentia  nobis." 

Physic  is  my  discovery  ;  and  I 

Help-bearing  |/^nel  am  called  throughout  the  world, 

To  us  subjected  is  the  power  of  herbs. 

t  Nulla  re  homines  ad  deos  propius  accedunt  quam  salutem  hominibus  dando. — 
Cicero. 


76  THE    MICROCOSM. 

Nosology — Auscultation  of  Heart  and  Lungs 

How  many  forms  of  sickness  man  befall, 
Sorrow  and  pain  the  common  lot  of  all ! 
Science  inquires,  and,  as  its  kinship  finds, 
Makes  classes,  orders,  families  and  kinds, 
Grouping  and  marshalling  diseases  so 
You  can  them  better  nominate  and  know. 
But  no  nosology  did  e'er  include 
The  total  of  the  mighty  multitude. 

Wise  to  interpret  each  prophetic  sign, 
To  pierce  the  veil  and  hidden  fates  divine, 
When  parents  ask,  with  grief  and  terror  wild, 
"  Canst  thou  not  save  my  darling,  save  my  child  ?  " 
You  skilled  to  catch,  while  listening  to  the  breath, 
The  distant  footsteps  of  approaching  death, 
May,  in  the  sighing  of  the  suffering  lung 
And  in  its  stillness,  hear  alike  a  tongue 
That  syllables  oracular  reply  : 
•"  Impossible,  'tis  fixed,  your  child  must  die." 
Response  more  dread  not  Delphic  prophetess 
E'er  shuddered  from  her  murmurous  recess. 

With  rush  of  countless  chariots,  palpitates 
Life's  great  metropolis  through  all  her  gates  ; 


THE    MICROCOSM.  77 

Their  crimson  wheels  with  a  perpetual  sound, 
Coming  and  going  in  their  endless  round, 
Are  heard  tumultuous  as  they  hurrying  throng 
Th'  Appian  or  Flaminian  ways  along  : 
*  Tis  yours  to  know  next  hour  all  this  will  fail. 
And  death  and  silence  everywhere  prevail. 

Physician 's  Character  and  Aims — Science  Progressive. 

O  it  is  well,  that  ye  have  hearts  to  feel, 
And  ears  not  deaf  to  pity's  soft  appeal, 
Putting  no  difference  'twixt  rich  and  poor, 
Plying  with  equal  zeal  the  means  of  cure, 
Not  deeming  it  becoming  to  regard 
Color  or  rank  or  person  or  reward. 
The  man  of  impure  life  and  sordid  aims, 
He  smuts  his  office  and  his  calling  shames  ; 
Him  you  disown  and  place  him  under  ban 
As  nothing  better  than  a  charlatan. 
Believing  needless  ignorance  a  crime, 
You  strive  to  reach  the  summit  of  your  time  ; 
To  old  age  learning  up  from  early  youth 
Your  life  one  long  apprenticeship  to  truth. 
Wisely  suspicious  sometimes  of  the  new, 
Ye  give  alert  acceptance  to  the  true  : 


?8  THE    MICROCOSM. 

Even  though  it  make  old  science  obsolete, 
It  with  a  thousand  welcomes  still  you  greet. 
'*  Knowledge  is  power,"  and  here  'tis  power  to  save, 
A  power  like  God's  to  rescue  from  the  grave. 
Each  year  adds  something — many  things  ye  know 
Your  sires  knew  not  a  Hundred  Years  Ago. 
Art  grown  to  more,  your  sons  will  higher  climb, 
And  make  the  Coming  Centuries  sublime  ; 
Till  Christ's  Millennial  Kingdom  shall  begin, 
And  put  an  end  to  sickness  and  to  sin. 
Heights  of  the  Future  !  breezy  with  the  breath 
Of  vernal  quickening  to  the  fields  of  Death, 
In  the  far  distance  of  the  long  before, 
We  think  we  see  your  misty  summits  soar  ; 
Though  scarce  distinguished  from  the  mingling  skies 
How  glad  the  sight  to  our  believing  eyes  ! 

Spiritual  Maladies — Christ  the  Great  Physician. 

Ah  !  there  are  maladies  beyond  your  skill  ; 
You  cannot  cure  depravity  of  will  ; 
You  cannot  mend  a  moral  nature  flawed, 
Convert  a  mind  at  enmity  with  God  ; 
You  cannot  terminate  the  inward  strife, 
Restore  the  broken  harmony  of  life  ; 


THE    MICROCOSM.  79 

With  all  th'  armentarium  of  Art 
Restrain  the  outflow  of  an  evil  heart  ; 
Cleanse  by  detergent  washings  of  the  skin 
Th'  immedicable  leprosy  of  sin  ; 
Remove  the  lunacy  that  chooses  death, 
And  imprecates  destruction  with  each  breath. 
When  came  the  Great  Physician  of  the  Skies, 
To  find  a  remedy  that  should  suffice, 
Knowing  'twas  not  in  mineral  or  wood, 
He  sought  it  in  a  Pharmacy  of  Blood  ; 
And  since  none  other  but  His  own  was  pure, 
He  transfused  that  to  consummate  the  cure. 
Man  curing  when  past  cure — content  to  give 
Himself  to  die  to  make  His  patient  live. 

Death — Immortality — Resurrection — Spiritual  Body. 

Death  spreads,  no  more — a  black  and  wrathful  cloud 
The  smiling  infinite  of  heaven  to  shroud — 
A  harmless  mist,  instead,  divinely  bright 
With  dewy  splendors  of  the  morning  light 
That  scarcely  serves  th'  eternal  world  to  hide, 
Where  loved  ones  gone  before  in  bliss  abide. 
Lo  !  what  a  mighty  beckoning  of  hands, 
And  wafted  welcomes  of  angelic  bands, 


8o  THE  MICROCOSM. 

As  one  of  Christ's  dear  number  upward  springs, 
And  first  essays  his  wondrous  gift  of  wings. 
Such  greetings  did  your  recent  coming  wait, 

0  aged  pilgrim  !    at  the  heavenly  gate, 
When  man's  allotted  years  on  earth  now  spent, 
You,  dying,  "to  the  greater  number  went."* 
What  though  your  body  moulders  'neath  the  sod, 
Its  untouched  life  is  hid  with  Christ  in  God. 

1  heard  a  voice  proclaiming  from  the  skies  : 

"  The  dead  shall  live,  with  my  dead  body  rise." 
Awake  and  sing,  O  ye  that  dwell  in  dust ! 
Because  He  lives,  who  is  your  life,  ye  must. 
His  quickening  Spirit  shall  go  forth  again, 
His  power  o'ershadow  and  His  love  impregn  ; 
The  slumbering  germs  dispersed  through  land  and  sea, 
The  buried  ovules  of  identity, 
Shall  suddenly  unfold,  and  all  the  Earth 
Be  as  a  woman  in  the  pangs  of  birth. 
The  Body  born,  not  mortal  like  that  sown, 
But  kindred  and  resemblant  to  Christ's  own  : 
Admiring  angels  shall  the  sight  applaud, 
Blazing  with  all  the  majesty  of  God  ! 

*Abiit  ad  plures.     If  this  phrase  was  an  apt  and  expressive  equivalent  for 
death  two  thousand  years  ago,  how  much  more  now. 


COSMOS. 


PSALM  CIV.—  Two  Versions. 
GOD  IN-  NATURE. 
MORNING    HYMN. 


COSMOS.* 


PSALM  CIV. 


FIRST   VERSION. 


o 


LORD  my  God  !  Thou  art 
Above  conception  great ; 

Nature  Thy  wardrobe  is,  in  part, 
The  purple  of  Thy  state. 


Thy  garment  is  the  light: 
Around  Thee,  lo  !  are  drawn 

The  starry  mantle  of  the  night, 
The  vesture  of  the  dawn. 

PSALM   civ. 


BLESS  the  Lord,  O  my  soul.    O  Lord 
my  God  thou  art  very  great, thou  art 
clothed  with  honor  and  majesty  :  [HEB. 
•with  glory  and  l>eauty.~\ 


•2  Who  coverest  thyself  with  light  as 
with  a  garment :  who  stretchest  out  the 
heavens  like  a  curtain;  [i.e.  of  a  tent,  or 
pavilion^ 


*  Alexander  Von  Humboldt,  in  his  "  Cosmos,"  remarks  :  "  It  might  be  said  one 
single  Psalm  (the  hundred  and  fourth)  represents  the  image  of  the  whole  COSMOS  . .  . 
We  are  astonished  to  find,  in  a  lyrical  poem  of  such  a  limited  compass,  the  whole 
universe — the  heavens  and  the  earth — sketched  with  a  few  bold  touches."  Bishop 
Lowth  in  his  Lectures  refers  again  and  again  to  this  Psalm  (or  Idyllium,  as  he  some 
where  calls  it),  and  always  in  terms  of  unbounded  admiration.  He  says :  "  There  is 
nothing  of  the  kind  extant  (indeed  nothing  can  be  conceived)  more  perfect  than 
this  hymn,  whether  it  be  considered  with  respect  to  its  intrinsic  beauties,  or  as  a 
model  of  that  species  of  composition,"  Lord  Bacon  dedicates  to  his  "  very  good 


84  COSMOS. 

The  heavens  Thou  dost  extend, 

As  a  pavilion  fair  ; 

[3!   Thy  chambers'  beams  Thou  dost  suspend 
In  watery  depths  of  air. 

The  clouds  Thy  chariot  are  ; 
W        The  winged  winds  Thy  steeds  ; 
To  bear  Thy  messages  afar 
The  flaming  lightning  speeds. 

M   The  earth  Thou  founded  hast 

On  law's  eternal  base, 

That  nothing  should,  while  time  shall  last, 
Remove  it  from  its  place. 


3  Who  layeth  the  beams  of  his  cham-  his  angels,  the  flaming  fire  his  minis- 
:rs  in   the  waters  ;    who   maketh   the  ters.] 

ouds  his  chariot ;  who  walketh  upon  5  Who  laid   the   foundations   of    the 

ie  wings  of  the  wind.  earth,  that  it  should  not  be  removed  for- 

4  Who  maketh  his  angels  spirits  ;  his  ever.     [HEB.  "  Who  hath  founded  the 
inisters  a  flaming  fire  ;  (.In  the  French  earth  on  its  6ases."] 


minister: 

translation  it  is — Who  maketh  the  ivinds 


friend,  Mr.  George  Herbert,"  a  version,  executed  in  'the  heroic  couplet— one  of 
the  few  productions  of  his  none  too  gracious  Muse.  Of  the  two  versions  here  giv 
en,  the  first  is  based  more  upon  the  Received  Text,  the  other  on  the  Marginal 
Reading,  or  Hebrew,  where  this  differs. 

[Cosmos — a  Greek  word,  meaning  primarily  "order  ",  order  with  beauty  as  a 
result,  i.e.  "beautiful  order" — came  early  to  stand  specifically  for  the  universe 
or  world,  the  world  contemplated  as  a  beautiful  system,  characterized  by  the  most 
perfect  order.  The  synonymous  term  Macrocosm^  signifying  explicitly  the  great  [or 
whole}  world,  is  sometimes  used  to  mark  opposition  more  distinctly  to  the  Micro 
cosm^  or  the  little  world  of  man.  ] 


COSMOS.  85 

'61   The  garment  of  the  deep 

Around  it  all  was  poured  : 
Above  the  mountains'  highest  steep 
The  haughty  waters  roared. 


W   Thy  dread  rebuke  they  heard  ; 
. 

They  fled,  they  hasted  down 

Before  the  thunder  of  Thy  word, 
The  terror  of  Thy  frown. 


They  climb  the  mountains'  height, 
They  down  the  valleys  roll. 

Wave  chasing  wave  in  headlong  flight 
To  the  appointed'  goal. 

There  Thou  a  bound  hast  set, 

That  never  more  the  main 
Howe'er  the  loud  waves  rage  and  threat 

May  drown  the  earth  again. 


6  Thou  coveredst  it  with  the  deep  as  go  down  by  the  valleys  [or,  the  ntount- 
with  a  garment :  the  waters  stood  above  ains  ascend,  the  valleys  descend]  unto  the 
the  mountains.  place  which  thou  hast  founded  for  them. 

7  At  thy    rebuke   they  fled  :    at   the  9  Thou  hast  set  a  bound   that  they 
voice  of  thy  thunder  they  hasted  away.  may  not  pass  over ;  that  they  turn  not 

8  They  go  up  by  the  mountains  ;  they  again  to  cover  the  earth. 


COSMOS. 

tj°]    Into  the  vales,  among  the  hills, 
A  thousand  fountains  burst; 
There  run  cool  brooks  and  murmuring  rills 
["]        For  beasts  to  slake  their  thirst. 

I"]    The  fowls  of  heaven  have  near 

Their  favorite  retreat, 
Among  the  branches  singing  clear 
Their  happy  songs  and  sweet. 

['3>  From  out  the  blessed  sky 

Thou  send'st  the  genial  rain, 
And  thirsty  vales  and  hill-tops  dry 
Revive  and  laugh  again. 

IM!   Thy  breath  is  in  the  fields, 

Thy  power  beneath  the  sod. 
Each  mead  and  cornfield  tribute  yields 
And  owns  the  present  God. 


10  He  sendeth   the  springs  into   the  sing  \eive  a  voice]  among  the  branches, 
valleys,  which  run  [Hns.  walk~\  among  13  He   watereth    the    hills    from    his 
the  hills.  chambers;  the  earth  is  satisfied  with  the 

11  They  give  drink  to  every  beast  of  fruit  of  thy  works. 

the  field  ;  the  wild  asses  quench  [slake]  14  He  causeth  the  grass  to  grow   for 

their  thirst.  the  cattle,  and  herb   for  the  service  of 

12  By    them  shall   the   fowls  of    the  man  ;  that  he  may  bring  food  out  of  the 
heaven    have    their    habitation    which  earth : 


COSMOS.  87 

For  sake  of  man  and  beast, 

To  satisfy  their  needs, 
Exhaustless  Nature  spreads  this  feast, 

This  miracle  proceeds. 

Majestic  cedars  prop 

The  nests  on  Lebanon  ; 
The  stork  prefers  the  fir-tree's  top 

To  build  her  house  upon. 

On  craggy  summits,  where 

No  other  foot  can  tread, 
The  wild-goats  seek  a  refuge  there, 

By  wondrous  instinct  led. 

Thou  dost  for  all  provide 

Whate'er  their  natures  ask — 
A  sphere,  and  faculty  to  guide, 

A  purpose,  and  a  task. 


88  COSMOS. 

L1?]   The  setting  sun,  the  rising  moon, 

Their  proper  seasons  wait — 
For  punctual  Nature's  ne'er  too  soon, 
Nor  ever  yet  too  late. 

L2°I   As  down  heaven's  headlong  steep 

The  dewy  night  is  hurled, 
Forth  from  their  dens  all  wild  beasts  creep, 
While  darkness  wraps  the  world. 

L2I1    Young  lions  roar  for  prey, 

And  seek  their  meat  from  God  ; 
But  when  the  sun  arises,  they 
[22!        NO  longer  roam  abroad. 

I23l    Man  now,  refreshed  by  sleep, 

Goes  forth  at  morning  light, 
To  plough  the  fields,  to  sow  or  reap, 
Till  the  return  of  night. 


it)  He  appointeth  the  moon  for  sea-  prey,  and  seek  their  meat   from  God. 

sons :  the  sun  knoweth  his  going  down.  22  The  sun  ariseth,  they  gather  them- 

20  Thou  makest  darkness,  and   it  is  selves  together,  and  lay  them  down  in 
night :  wherein  all  the  beasts  of  the  for-  their  dens. 

est  do  creep  forth   (HEB.  all  the  beasts  23  Man  goeth  forth  unto  his  work  and 

thereof  do  trample  on  the  forest].  to  his  labor  until  the  evening. 

21  The  young  lions  roar  after  their 


COSMOS.  89 

I24l    O  Lord,  how  manifold 

The  products  of  Thy  hand  ! 
How  wise  !  how  wondrous  to  behold  ! 
How  admirably  planned  ! 

t2s]   And  not  the  earth  alone, 

But  the  unfathomed  sea 
Is  filled  with  myriads  unknown, 
Whose  being  is  in  Thee. 

M   There  go  the  ships,  and  there 
^  Leviathan  disports, 

And  other  beasts  the  waters  bear — 
Innumerable  sorts. 

[27]   These  all  on  Thee  depend, 

All  wait  on  Thee  for  food  ; 
i2Sl   Thine  open  hand  Thou  dost  extend 

And  they  are  filled  with  good. 


24  O   Lord,   how    manifold    are    thy  leviathan   whom  thou  has  made  |HEr, 
works  !   in  wisdom  has  thou  made  them  formed}  to  play  therein. 

al! ;  the  earth  is  full  of  thy  riches.  ^  ^^^ll^t^^K 

25  So   is    this  great    and    wide    sea,  (jue  season. 

wherein  are  things  creeping  innumera-  2g  That  thou  givest  them  they  gather; 

ble,  both  small  and  great  beasts.  tnou  openest  thine  hand,  they  are  filled 

26  There  go  the  ships  ;  there  is  that  with  good. 


90  COSMOS. 

M   That  moment  Thou  dost  hide, 
Benignant  Lord  !    Thy  face, 
They  down  to  swift  destruction  glide 
They  die  and  leave  no  trace. 

[3°]   Thou  spread's!  Thy  brooding  wing, 

Thou  sendest  forth  Thy  breath, 
And  countless  forms  of  life  upspring 
From  out  the  dust  of  death. 

The  earth,  that  late  was  seen 

Shrunk  by  the  fatal  cold, 
Warmed  by  Thy  smile,  appears  as  green 

And  beauteous  as  of  old. 

M    Thy  glory  doth  endure, 

Thy  goodness  doth  not  pass, 
Thy  works  reflect  Thine  image  pure, 
Distinct  as  in  a  glass. 


are   created :    and    thou    renewest   the 

29  Jh?u  hrtest    thy    face     they  are      face  of  the  earth 

troubled  ;  thou  takest  away  their  breath,  The  rlory  of  the  Lord  sha)1  endure 

they  die,  and  return  to  their  dust.  forever;    the   Lord   shall  rejoice  in  his 

30  Thou  sendest  forth  thy  spirit,  they      works. 


COSMOS.  91 

M   Awe-struck  beneath  Thy  gaze, 

Earth  shakes  from  South  to  North  ; 
At  Thy  bare  touch  the  mountains  blaze, 
Volcanic  fires  burst  forth. 

£33]   While  I  have  power  to  praise, 
And  being  have  and  breath, 
My  joyful  songs  to  Thee  I'll  raise, 
Nor  shall  they  cease  at  death. 

[34]   What  tongue  cannot  repeat, 

That  silence  shall  express — 
My  thoughts  of  Thee  shall  still  be  sweet 
Whose  love  is  fathomless. 

[35]   Though  Thou  canst  be  severe, 
As  impious  men  shall    know, 
Yet  to  the  humble  and  sincere 
Thy  grace  doth  overflow. 


32  He   looketh   on   the   earth,   and  it  34  My    meditation   of     him    shall  be- 
trembleth  ;  he  toucheth  the   hills,  and  sweet ;   I  will  be  glad  in  the  Lord. 
they  smoke.  35  Let  the  sinners  be  consumed  out 

33  I  will  sing  unto  the  Lord  as  long  of  the  earth,  and  let  the  wicked  be  no 
as  Hive  ;  I  will  sing  praise  to  my  God  more.     Bless  thou  the  Lord,  O  my  soul, 
while  I  have  my  being.  Praise  ye  the  Lord. 


COSMOS. 

My  soul,  bless  Thou  the  Lord  ! 

Glad  hallelujahs  sing  ! 
Let  rapturous  praise  be  ever  poured 

From  an  exhaustless  spring  ! 


PSALM  CIV. 


SECOND     VERSION. 


o 


LORD  my  God  !  Thou  art, 

Of  all  that  is,  the  soul, 

The  mystery  of  every  part, 

The  glory  of  the  whole. 

Thou  art  the  Light  of  light, 

Light  is  Thy  dazzling  veil, 
Compared  with  this,  Thy  raiment  white, 

The  light  of  suns  is  pale. 

With  high  aerial  grace, 

The  azure  firmament 
Thou  hangest  o'er  the  empty  place, 

In  likeness  of  a  tent. 


COSMOS.  93- 

£3]   Thy  chambers'  buoyant  beams 

Rest  on  that  upper  sea, 
Where  unseen  rivers  flow,  and  streams 
Pour  tribute  silently. 

Thou  makest  clouds  Thy  car, 
W        By  winds  tempestuous  driven  ; 
Th'  obedient  lightnings  bear  afar 
The  messages  of  Heaven. 

[5]   Immovably  Thy  hand 

The  earth  established  ;  still, 
Beneath  its  strong  foundations,  stand 
The  pillars  of  Thy  will. 

[6]   Thou  poured'st  the  deep  around, 

Whose  waters  roared  and  swirled 
Above  the  mountains  of  a  drowned 
And  ocean  buried  world. 

W   At  Thy  rebuking  word, 

They  trembling  fled  away  ; 
The  thunder  of  Thy  voice  they  heard 
And  hastened  to  obey. 


94  COSMOS. 

KU  In  endless  ebb  they  shrink 

To  lower  levels  fast — 
The  mountains  rise,  the  valleys  sink — 
Till,  gathered  at  the  last, 

•9!  They  keep  the  place  assigned, 

Th'  unsounded  depth  of  seas, 
By  bars  of  adamant  confined 
And  Thy  unchanged  decrees. 

£K>]  in  valleys  cool  and  sweet 

Spring  brooks  and  murmuring  rills, 
That  walk  the  meads  with  shining  feet 
And  run  among  the  hills. 

["]    Beasts  of  the  field  there  drink, 

Wild  asses  thirst  allay  ; 
t«2]   Among  the  trees  that  shade  the  brink 

Sing  happy  birds  all  day. 

f'3]   Thou  water'st  all  the  land, 

And  makest  glad  the  sod  ; 
The  earth  contented  owns  the  hand 
And  husbandrv  of  God. 


COSMOS.  95 

[H]   Thou  makest  grass  to  spring 

For  cattle,  and  dost  plan 
Supplies  of  every  needful  thing 
For  the  support  of  man. 

[Ts]   The  tilled  and  teeming  soil 

Brings  forth  the  foodful  wine, 
That  cheers  the  heart  of  man,  and  oil 
That  makes  his  face  to  shine. 

M   The  cedars  of  the  Lord, 
The  pride  of  Lebanon, 
With  plenteous  sap  and  vigor  stored, 
Thou  planted'st  every  one. 

[J7l   The  birds  there  build,  and  hide 
Their  nests  from  human  ken  ; 
Fir-trees  for  storks  a  house  provide 
Far  from  the  haunts  of  men. 

us]    The  wild  goats  climb  the  steep 

Of  friendly  hills  that  mocks 
Pursuing  feet,  and  conies  creep 
For  safety  in  the  rocks. 


g6  COSMOS. 

All  these  Thy  thoughts  employ, 
Thy  tender  mercies  share, 

The  great  and  mean  alike  enjoy 
Thy  universal  care. 

1*9]   The  changeful  moon  observes 

Thy  ordinances  yet ; 
The  sun  his  orbit  keeps,  nor  swerves, 
And  knows  his  time  to  set. 

[2°]   Thou  makest  dark — 'tis  night — 
Mid  settling  shadows  brown, 
Wild  beasts  with  eyeballs  flashing  light 
The  forest  trample  down, 

[2I]   Young  lions  roar  for  prey, 

And  food  from  thee  require  ; 

[22]   But  when  the  sun  arises,  they 
Back  to  their  dens  retire. 

[23]   After  the  night's  repose, 

Refreshed  in  every  power, 
Man  to  his  work  and  labor  goes 
Until  the  evening  hour. 


COSMOS.  9? 

M   O  Lord,  how  manifold 

Thy  works,  in  wisdom  framed  ! 
The  earth  is  full  of  wealth  untold, 
Beneficence  unnamed. 

I>5]    So  this  great  sea  and  wide, 

Where  things  unnumbered  creep  : 
Beasts  small  and  great  there  swiftly  glide, 
And  populate  the  deep. 

M   There  go  the  ships  ;  there  plough 

Monsters  of  mighty  fin, 
That  huge  leviathan  whom  Thou 
Hast  made  to  play  therein. 

[27]   These  wait  without  alarm 

On  Thee,  their  bounteous  Lord, 
Who  hang'st  Creation  on  Thine  arm, 
And  feed'st  it  at  Thy  board. 

[28]   Thy  love  and  pity  grand 

Assure  them  timely  food  : 
Thou  op'nest  Thy  paternal  hand, 
And  they  are  filled  with  good. 

7 


98  COSMOS. 

N]   Thou  hid'st  Thy  face,  and  they 
Are  struck  with  mortal  fear  ; 
Thou  takest  soon  their  breath  away, 
They  die  and  disappear  : 

k°]   Thy  Spirit  broods  above — 

They  live,  in  number  more  ; 
The  earth  beneath  Thy  smile  of  love, 
Seems  fairer  than  before. 

I-31]    The  glory  of  Thy  power 

Shall  stand,  as  it  has  stood 
Since  that  divine  rejoicing  hour 
Thou  madest  all  things  good. 

M    Earth  trembles  at  the  stroke 

Of  Thy  swift-glancing  eyes  ; 
The  hills  Thou  touchest  and  they  smoke, 
Volcanic  flames  arise. 

[33]    O  Lord  my  God  !  I  fling 

Me  down  at  Thy  dear  feet  ; 
There  will  I  lie,  and  gladly  sing 
Adoring  anthems  sweet. 


COSMOS.  99 


[35]    Bless  thou  the  Lord,  my  soul ! 

Permitted  as  thou  art, 
Of  this  majestic  cosmic  whole, 
To  form  a  noble  part. 


GOD    IN    NATURE. 

TO  see  with  eyes'of  wonder,  and  with  heart 
Of  worship,  God,  in  all — the  Mystery, 
That  renders  sacred  most  familiar  things — 
With  priestly  ministrations  here  to  stand 
In  the  grand  Temple  of  the  Universe, 
Voicing  the  praises  of  all  creatures  mute, 
This  is  Religion,  and  for  this  alone 
Was  man  created  sovereign  of  the  world. 

Yea  !  all  things  are  of  God.     This  infinite 
And  unimaginable  Universe, 
Built  up  of  atoms,  hath  no  other  Cause, 
No  other  Father.     His  unutterable  Will 
Is  the  foundation  on  which  Nature  rests. 
God  underlieth  every  meanest  grain  ; 


ioo  COSMOS. 

There,  even  there,  is  His  omnipotence 
And  love  and  wisdom,  else  it  could  not  be. 
Glorious  with  a  divine  significance, 
And  full  of  mighty  motives  to  adore, 
Is  the  dull  clod  we  tread  beneath  our  feet. 
The  shadow  of  each  footfall  covers  space 
Made  awful  with  the  tokens  of  the  Unseen. 
Of  common  dust,  no  handful  but  contains 
Problems  for  Science,  arguments  for  Faith, 
That  not  the  patient  and  untiring  search 
Of  studious  years  can  number  or  exhaust. 
There  power  is  resident,  and  forces  work 
In  secrecy  and  silence.     'Tis  a  part 
Of  the  great  whole,  indissolubly  joined, 
And  needful  to  the  mighty  equipoise 
Of  all  the  orbs  that  circulate  in  space. 
Subtract  that  element,  and  means  of  strength, 
And  the  great  pillars  that  support  the  world 
Shall  crumble  instantly  and  fall  to  wreck. 
It  lies,  and  shall  yet  lie,  where  it  has  lain 
From  the  beginning,  in  its  Maker's  palm, 
An  instrument  of  power  to  do  His  will. 
A  gust  of  summer  wind  sweeps  suddenly 


COSMOS. 

Along  this  dry  frequented  thoroughfare. 
Pursue  each  particle  of  flying  dust  ; 
O'ertake  and  seize  the  air-blown  fugitive  ; 
Strictly  interrogate,  and,  if  need  be, 
Extort  confession  from  reluctant  lips  ; 
Compel  th*  imprisoned  secret,  whence  it  came 
And  what  it  is.     It  has  a  history. 
Lo  !  ages  back  it  wrought,  and,  ever  since, 
In  various  forms,  through  changes  manifold 
Of  protean  existence,  played  its  part. 
Perhaps  it  dwelt  with  Adam  ere  he  sinned 
In  Paradise,  and  fed  the  healthful  springs 
Of  an  immortal  vigor  ;  otherwise  with  Eve, 
To  make  her  first  and  fairest  of  her  sex, 
Supreme  in  unimagined  loveliness. 
Wondrous  its  essence  then.     O  Ignorant  ! 
Who  vainly  deem  aught  mean  or  meaningless, 
Since  in  the  very  ultimates  of  things, 
In  fragmentary  atoms,  God  is  seen 
Minutely  miniatured,  His  image  traced 
In  multiplied  reflections  clear  and  bright, 
As  some  chance-shattered  mirror  truly  shows 
The  object  that  confronts  it  in  each  part. 


>2  COSMOS. 

If  what  is  least  reveals  Him  :  testifies 
Surely  and  sweetly  of  the  present  God  ; 
If  each  dull  particle  of  sordid  earth 
The  latent  light  of  Deity  enshrines, 
Whose  liberated  and  outbursting  pomp, 
The  lustre  of  the  diamond  would  shame, 
And  stain  the  radiance  of  all  the  stars  ; 
If  dust  is  eloquent  and  atoms  preach  ; 
If  elementary  component  parts, 
With  separate  utterances  of  pregnant  proof, 
And  mystic  characters  compactly  writ, 
Are  each  and  all  condensed  embodiments, 
Examples  and  epistles  of  His  love  ; 
With  what  a  rapturous,  o'erwhelming  might 
Of  certainty,  and  bliss  of  kneeling  awe, 
The  glorious  Aggregate  and  wondrous  Whole, 
So  all  ablaze  with  Godhead,  on  the  sight 
Now  presses,  and  invites  my  trembling  lyre  ! 

Opens  the  eye,  and,  lo,  a  Universe  ! 
A  flash  of  vision  issuing  from  the  lids 
Of  darkness  ;  an  ubiquity  of  thought, 
A  rush  of  consciousness  o'erflowing  space, 
And  reaching  boundaries  of  worlds  so  far, 


COSMOS.  103 

That  Light's  swift  messenger,  dispatched  from  thence 

At  the  creation,  has  but  just  arrived. 

O  my  Mind's  Beautiful  !     My  own  Heart's  Bride  ! 

That,  with  surrender  of  thy  powerful  charms, 

Leaps  to  th'  encounter  of  my  Soul's  embrace  ! 

O  inexpressible  Reality  !  the  All  ! 

So  multiform  and  marvellous  ;  so  near 

And  neighboring  ;  as  day  familiar  !     Sleep 

A  while  excludes,  but,  punctual  as  the  Morn, 

At  the  low  portal  of  th'  awakened  Sense, 

Thou  stoop'st  to  enter  in  with  all  thy  train. 

Ye  dwellers  in  mud-huts,  who  look,  perchance, 
With  squint  and  hungry  eyes  and  pining  heart. 
At  the  palatial  mansions  of  the  rich, 
Angry  with  Fortune,  wherefore  are  ye  thus? 
Ungrateful  !  is  not  this  your  Father's  house — 
This  domed  and  decorated  Universe — 
And  have  ye  not  the  privilege  of  sons  ? 
All  day  and  half  the  night  ye  are  abroad, 
Awake  and  wonder-struck.     What  matters  it 
How  mean  your  dormitory,  you  asleep? 
How  rude  or  scant  your  chamber's  furniture  ? 
Sleep  takes  no  knowledge,  occupied  with  dreams, 
Haply  reversive  of  your  differing  lots. 


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COSMOS.  105 

Not  so  the  blameless  and  unfearing  Clouds, 

Born  of  the  Light,  and  Children  of  the  Sun. 

These  do  not  fly,  but  motionless  and  calm, 

With  grief  of  absence  and  long  watching  pale, 

Now  flushed  with  pleasure  at  his  near  approach, 

In  reverent,  expectant  posture,  wait 

To  smile  back    welcome  to  their  glorious  Sire, 

Who  seals,  Good  morrow  !  with  a  heavenly  kiss. 

All  things  put  off  their  melancholy  mien. 

The  Earth,  that  wept  all  night  her  absent  lord, 

Her  cold  cheek  wet  with  tears,  now  makes  each  drop 

A  brilliant  mirror  to  reflect  her  joy. 

The  streams  sing  louder  ;  and  unnumbered  birds 

Flitting  from  bough  to  bough  in  the  green  wood, 

Or  high  in  air,  exert  their  little  throats 

To  testify  delight.     The  flowers,  which  shut 

Last  night  their  gaily  painted  leaves,  and  hid 

And  husbanded  their  store  of  sweets,  yield  up 

Their  gathered  fragrance.     Greener  gleams  the  grass. 

The  beautiful  foliage  of  all  the  trees 

Quivers  with  secret  rapture.     Zephyrs  soft, 

Breezes  Favonian,  feel  new  pulses  beat 

Within,  and  waking  wave  invisible  wings. 

But  what  a  glory  crowns  the  mountain-tops, 


36  COSMOS. 

When  bursts  the  budding  Day  into  full  flower. 
Uprising  from  th'  abyss  like  world  new-made 
The  blazing  Wonder  comes.     It  touches  now, 
Now  overtops  the  Earth's  circumference, 
And  pours  great  floods  of  light  into  the  void, 
And  fills  up  all  the  mighty  gulfs  of  space — 
The  flux  and  fullness  of  that  shoreless  sea 
Which  deluges  and  drowns  and  swallows  all, 
Yea  !  and  baptizes  all  things  unto  God. 

Who  can  resist  the  impulse  of  glad  praise  ? 
Father  of  Lights  !     Sun  of  the  Universe, 
Here  imaged  !    Thee,  we  magnify,  we  bless, 
We  worship  !  we  have  greatest  cause. 
Of  all  Thy  creatures,  Thou,  to  man  alone, 
Hast  given  mind,  imagination,  heart  ; 
The  knowledge  of  Thyself  and  of  Thy  works  ; 
The  inspiration  and  the  joy  of  Faith. 
Enlightened  by  Thy  immaterial  beams, 
He  sees  a  beauty  others  cannot  see. 
He  hears  a  melody  no  others  hear  ; 
He  feels  a  rapture  none  else  comprehends. 
Well  may  he  join  the  general  jubilee  ; 
As  first  in  dignity  be  first  in  praise  ; 
As  first  in  favor  foremost  too  in  thanks  ; 


COSMOS.  107 

Articulate  voice  and  utterance  to  all, 
As  in  himself  the  sum  of  all,  and  more  ; 
His  animal  perfection  topped  and  crowned 
With  a  religious  and  immortal  soul, 
Electric  with  a  mystery  of  life, 
Related  to  that  mystery  divine, 
Which  dwells  in  all,  and  is  the  soul  of  all, 
Whence,  like  a  body  oppositely  charged, 
He  touches  nature,  and  sustains  a  shock 
Thrilling  his  being  to  its  lowest  depths. 


MORNING  HYMN. 

OD,  my  security  ! 

Let  me  in  purity 
Hymn  Thy  high  praises  while  morning's  yet  dark- 
Slumbering  humanity 
Dreaming  of  vanity, 
How  is  it  shamed  by  the  worshipping  lark  ! 

Lowly  in  attitude, 
Musical  gratitude 
Fain  would  I  pour  to  Thee  fervent  and  sweet — 


io8  COSMOS. 

Thank  Thee  in  verity, 
Bless  in  sincerity, 
Wonder,  and  worship,  and  wait  at  Thy  feet  ! 

Thou,  whose  benignity, 

Hellish  malignity 
Baffling,  with  sleep  refresheth  the  world — 

Nature's  sweet  chirrupings, 

Warblings  and  worshippings, 
Hear,  while  the  banner  of  day  is  unfurled  ! 

Pride  of  the  firmament, 
Fadeless  and  permanent, 

Star  of  the  morning  !   begin  the  soft  lay — 
Lovingly  lingering, 
Singing,  and  fingering 

Viols  of  sweetness  preluding  the  day  ! 

Constellar  mysteries  ! 
Known  are  your  histories, 

Countless  and  boundless,  ye  rose  at  His  call- 
Boast  His  ubiquity, 
Greater  antiquity, 

Always  and  everywhere,  God  all  in  all  ! 


COSMOS.  109- 

Queen  of  serenity, 

Grace  and  amenity, 
Walking  in  brightness  and  blessing  the  earth — 

Aye  in  thy  wandering, 

Fondly  be  pondering, 
Proofs  of  His  matchless  and  manifold  worth  ! 

Orient  hoverings  ! 

Kindlings  and  coverings  ! 
Flaming  the  firmament,  flashing  afar, 

Duskiness  scattering, 

Mountain-tops  flattering, 
Chasing  my  spirit's  gloom,  tell  whence  ye  are  ! 

Type  of  Divinity  ! 

Over  infinity 
Throwing  a  mantle  of  beauty  and  light ; 

Life  of  the  perishing, 

Cheering  and  cherishing, 
Blazon  His  goodness  and  wisdom  and  might ! 

Earth  !  in  simplicity, 
Sing  thy  felicity, 
Bosomed  in  azure,  and  bride  of  the  sky  ; 


COSMOS. 

Favored  and  beautiful, 
No  more  undutiful, 
Low  at  His  footstool  contentedly  lie  ! 

Wondrous  reality, 

Forms  of  vitality, 
Countless  in  number,  O  come  in  your  need  ! 

Come  ye,  adoringly  ! 

Come  ye,  imploringly  ! 
Every  one  trusting  His  love  will  you  feed. 

Airy  profundity  ! 

Round  this  rotundity, 
Shedding  on  all  benediction  and  balm — 

Tempests,  cloud-sundering, 

Dreadfully  thundering, 
Lift  with  all  winds  the  powerful  Psalm  ! 

Bluest  Ethereal  ! 

Bright  Immaterial  ! 
Th'  infinite  Heavens  encompassing  all  ! 

Cope  of  Immensity  ! 

Sound  with  intensity 
Praises  to  God  from  your  echoing  wall  ! 


CHRISTMAS 


THE    REDEEMER. 
SOUL-LIBERTY. 
ADVENT    HYMN. 


CHRISTMAS. 


L 


ADVENT    HYMN. 

IFT  up  your  heads,  ye  gates  !   swing  wide, 
Ye  dazzling  portals  of  the  morn  ! 

Forth  let  the  Filial  Godhead  ride 
On  wings  of  cherubim  upborne  ! 

Nor  dare,  thou  flushed  and  flattered  East ! 

The  Sun  of  Righteousness  to  stay, 
Now  that  the  long  dark  night  has  ceased, 

And  souls  are  hungry  for  the  day. 

On  mountain  tops  bright  heralds  stand, 
With  beautiful  and  shining  feet, 

And  publish  over  sea  and  land 

The  welcome  tidings  glad  and  sweet  : 

He  comes  !    The  sky  is  all  on  fire  : 

We  see  the  bannered  pomp  unfurled, 
The  advancing  Splendor  rushing  higher 

To  flood  and  overflow  the  world  ! 
8 


H4  CHRISTMAS. 


THE  REDEEMER. 

fair  and  fadeless  Stars,  that  hither  turn 
-*-     All  your  converging  and  sweet  wondering  eyes 
From  every  part  of  the  surrounding  heavens, 
Holding  compassionate  and  patient  watch, 
Pure  witnesses  of  all  the  births  of  Time 
From  man's  apostasy  until  this  hour  ! — 
Now  join  to  celebrate  with  the  redeemed, 
The  Saviour's  advent  to  this  far  off  Earth, 
Who  came  that  He  might  bring  the  lost  one  back, 
Back  from  the  hungry,  fiery  jaws  of  Hell, 
To  shine  once  more  in  your  bright  neighborhood. 
Unchanged  amid  all  changes,  lo  !  ye  smile 
And  send  serene  and  loving  glances  down, 
(For  hate  ye  cannot)  owning  still  the  bonds 
Of  sympathy  and  sisterhood,  despite 
Her  blurred  and  altered  phase  and  depth  of  shame. 

Ye  deem  it  ill  becomes  you  to  contemn 
What  the  Creator  cares  for.     Ye  are  pure, 


CHRISTMAS.  115 

But  not  so  pure  as  He,  yet  His  delights 

Have  from  the  first  been  with  the  sons  of  men, 

Whose  utter  ruin  left  unmeasured  scope, 

For  a  display  of  love,  transcending  all 

That  highest  Seraphim  had  ever  thought. 

Yea  !  Earth  from  all  eternity  He  willed 

Should  be  the  honored  theatre  whereon 

The  Godhead  should  surmount  the  loftiest  scale 

Of  possibilities  of  grace.     Ye  dim 

And  twinkling  orbs  !  ye,  that  are  sunk  most  far 

In  the  deep  ether,  must  have  heard  the  fame 

Of  that  stupendous  miracle — a  Child 

Of  Virgin  born,  His  name  Emmanuel, 

In  whom  the  fullness  of  the  Godhead  dwelt, 

Whose  birth  to  shepherds  first  announced,  what  time 

They  watched  their  flocks  upon  Judea's  hills 

Beneath  your  smiling  and  rejoicing  beams. 

O,  stole  ye  not  a  glimpse  of  the  sweet  Babe, 

As  in  the  manger  lying,  underneath 

The  Mother's  doting  and  adoring  eye, 

And  stooped  yourselves  to  do  Him  homage  ?     For 

The  might,  that  formed  and  whirls  you  on  your  way, 

Was  there  pent  up  within  that  Infant  Form  ; 

That  puny  arm  sustained  the  Universe  ; 


n6  CHRISTMAS. 

That  tongue, which  then  was  mute,  had  power  to  change 
Th'  abiding  laws  of  Nature  and  of  Fate. 

Years  rolled  away  :  meanwhile,  this  Wondrous  Child 
Had  grown  to  manhood's  stature — marred  His  form, 
His  visage  ploughed  with  grief.     Much  had  He  toiled 
And  suffered.     Him  full  often  had  ye  seen 
Through  tedious  hours  of  night,  engaged  in  prayer, 
Alone,  in  mountain  solitudes.     Sometimes, 
An  awful  majesty  broke  forth  through  His 
Accustomed  meekness.     Now  His  voice  was  heard. 
Chiding  the  storm-tossed  sea  and  raging  winds 
That  gave  obsequious  heed  ;  and  now,  the  dead 
Waking,  as  from  slight  slumber,  at  a  word  ; 
And  now,  forgiving  sin,  as  highest  proof, 
Maugre  that  guise  of  weakness,  He  was  God. 

Remember  ye  Gethsemane  ?     We  said, 
Of  mortal  sorrow  He  had  drunk  full  cup  ; 
But  there  ye  saw  Him,  prostrate,  crying  out, 
"  Father,  if  possible,  let  this  cup  pass  !" 
His  grief,  that  waxed  intenser  day  by  day, 
Had  reached  its  acme.     Gracious  God  !   a  sweat 
Of  blood,  wrung  out  by  pressure  of  His  agony 


CHRISTMAS.  117 

"  Dipped  Him  all  o'er,"  a  dreadful  baptism,  but 
For  whose  accomplishment  He  yet  had  longed. 
He  stood  the  Atlas  of  a  sinking  world, 
By  guilt  so  ponderous  grown,  that,  even  He 
Who  holds  Creation  up,  one  moment  seemed 
To  stagger  'neath  it  and  to  fail  of  strength. 

Ye  saw  another  scene,  at  midday  too. 
A  preternatural  darkness  wrapt  the  land 
For  three  hours  space,  and  ye  looked  down 
On  Calvary,  a  hill  hard  by  Jerusalem. 
O  sight  of  horror  !  O  atrocious  deed  ! 
There  hung  th'  incarnate  God,  besmeared 
With  blood  and  spittle,  haggard,  most  forlorn, 
Writhing  in  helpless  agony.      Shocked  and  aghast, 
Withdrew  ye  not  your  shining  in  that  hour, 
The  darkest  from  eternity,  and  yet 
The  brightest,  hour  most  signal,  big  with  fate, 
The  fate  of  countless  millions?     Blood  there  spilt 
Quenched  everlasting  fires  !     'Twas  proof  of  love 
Amazing  Heaven  and  Earth  and  even  Hell. 

Though  ye're  all  lustrous  and  immaculate, 
The  brightest  were,  I  trow,  ne'er  honored  thus. 
Ye  have,  perhaps,  angelic  visitants,  but  when 


Il8  CHRISTMAS. 

Did  God  descend  among  you,  and  become 
As  one  of  your  own  people  ;  not  a  guest, 
But  denizen  and  fellow  through  long  years? 
The  fruit  of  so  mysterious  and  matchless  grace, 
Is  not  yet  fully  reaped.     Hereafter,  ye 
Shall  see  the  renovated  earth  shine  forth 
Fair  as  the  fairest  and  as  blest  as  erst. 

CHRISTMAS,  1851. 


SOUL-LIBERTY. 

OMOST  illustrious  of  the  days  of  time  ! 
Day  full  of  joy  and  benison  to  earth, 
When  Thou  wast  born,  sweet  Babe  of  Bethlehem  ! 
With  dazzling  pomp  descending,  angels  sung 
Good  will  and  peace  to  men,  to  God  due  praise, 
Who  on  the  errand  of  salvation  sent 
Thee,  Son  Beloved  !  of  plural  Unity 
Essential  part,  made  flesh  that  mad'st  all  worlds. 

Ay,  well  and  gloriously  didst  Thou  achieve 
Thy  god-like  mission  both  by  life  and  death. 
Light  broke  upon  the  nations  ;  at  Thy  word 


CHRISJ^MAS.  119 

Roused  from  the  sleep  of  ages.     Truths  long  lost, 

Man's  immortality  and  higher  life, 

The  unity  and  fatherhood  of  God, 

The  splendid  verities  of  Christian  Faith, 

Ran  swiftly  and  were  glorified  in  every  land. 

Thy  Universal  Empire,  whose  sole  law 

Is  Love,  rose  silently,  and  without  violence 

Freeing  from  old  oppression.     Ne'er  till  then 

Did  man  know  aught  of  Freedom,  or  could  know. 

The  sensual  and  depraved  are  slaves  perforce. 

The  free  of  soul,  the  pure,  the  sanctified, 

Alone  are  free,  the  Freemen  of  the  Lord, — 

True  King  of  Christendom,  whose  gracious  sway 

None  shares,  nor  Prince,  nor  Priest  subordinate 

Or  prime.     Whate'er  opposes  and  itself  exalts 

Against  His  sole  supremacy  is  known 

As  Antichrist,  the  man  of  sin,  abhorred 

And  blasphemous,  sometime  to  be  revealed. 

Mysterious  sufferance  !  revealed  He  was 
Long  since  ev'n  as  foretold  ;  and  has  been  there 
Ev'n  in  God's  Temple  seen  to  sit  as  God, 
Usurping  Godhead.     In  Thy  seat,  O  Christ  ! 
Sporting  omnipotent  tyranny  of  yore. 
By  threat  and  curse  and  boundless  bloodshed,  still 


20  CHRISTMAS. 

Urging  submission  to  his  iron  sway. 

Beneath  heaven's  broad  and  blessed  canopy 

No  place  was  found,  no  little  spot  among 

Th'  Alpine  solitudes,  where  safely  one 

Might  offer  spiritual  worship,  and  enjoy 

Th'  inalienable  privileges  of  grace. 

The  Book  of  Life  was  contraband.     Direct, 

God  might  not  speak  to  man,  nor  man  to  God. 

No  sweet  immunity,  no  sacred  right 

In  all  the  Charter  of  Salvation  made  secure, 

Escaped  his  ban  and  interdict.     He  oped 

Or  "  shut  the  gates  of  mercy  on  mankind." 

There  at  the  Board  of  Life  assumed  to  sit 

To  dole  its  heavenly  nourishment  for  pay. 

The  Fountain  of  Salvation  was  fenced  round 

That  henceforth  none  might  draw  or  drink,  except 

As  ministered  by  priestly  hands.     God  could 

Not  save,  apart  from  ghostly  benison, 

And  shrift,  and  endless  round  of  mummery, 

And  stamp  of  "  By  permission  "  of  the  priest. 

'Tvvas  monstrous  heresy  to  say  :  "  On  us, 

The  laity,  doubtless  God  bestowed,  not  souls 

Alone,  but  modicum  of  sense  withal, 

To  save  them  from  perdition."     Fires  would  blaze, 


CHRISTMAS.  121 

Swords  gleam,  and  racks  creak  horribly,  to  wreak 
The  dire  offence  thus  done  to  clerical 
Prerogative,  where  lay  sole  power  to  judge. 

We  sketch  the  features  of  a  barbarous  age  ; 
But  live  remote,  in  times  of  boasted  light, 
In  favored  land,  where  all  may  fearless  read 
And  know  ourselves  the  blessed  Word  of  Life, 
That  tells,  the  very  air  and  sunlight  are, 
If  possible,  less  free  than  is  Heaven's  grace  ; 
And  he's  a  daring  pragmatist,  at  best, 
Be  he  pope,  priest,  plain  presbyter,  or  plain 
Preacher,  that  qualifies  its  freeness — free 
And  flowing  chaste  and  clear  immediately 
Through  Faith,  with  holy  renovating  power. 

"  One  is  your  Master,"  saith  our  Head,  "  even  Christ, 
And  there  results  to  you  equality 
Of  brotherhood.      Humility  is  rank  ; 
The  least  is  greatest  and  the  greatest  least." 
May  God  forfend,  that  blood  should  stream  afresh, 
Ere  ends  the  strife  for  self-aggrandizement, 
Among  the  subjects  of  the  Prince  of  Peace. 

CHRISTMAS,  1852. 


NEW    YEAR. 


ETERNITY. 

THE  FUTURE  LIFE. 

LIFE'S  MYSTERIES. 

ACCOUNTABILITY. 

THE  FLIGHT  OF  PEGASUS. 

ALL  HAIL! 


NEW     YEAR 


B 


ETERNITY. 

EHOLD,  how  speed  we  toward  Eternity  T 
Cut  from  our  waning  Life,  another  Year 
Has  of  the  hungry  and  insatiate  Past 
Been  swallowed  up,  leaving  a  poor  remainder.. 
The  hastening  and  inevitable  fates 
Draw  us  toward  everlasting  issues,  dread 
And  infinite,  that  lie  beyond  the  grave, 
The  grave,  where  sets  the  orb  of  being,  sets 
To  rise,  ascend,  and  culminate  above 
Eternity's  horizon  evermore. 

Ye  thoughtless  ones,  attend  !  A  voice  proclaims, 
"Repent!  prepare!   Eternity's  at  hand." 
Behold,  it  comes  !  it  comes  !  comes  unobserved  ' 
In  deepest  silence  comes  !  steals  unawares  ! 
Eternity  !     How  know  we  but  we  stand 
On  the  precipitous  and  crumbling  verge 
Of  Time  e'en  now,  Eternity  below  ? 


126  N  E  W     YEA  R  . 

O  reck  ye  not,  ye  votaries  of  vice  ! 
Ye  worldlings  !  that  Eternity  draws  nigh, 
And  ye  like  atoms  shall  be  soon  engulphed 
In  its  unfathomable  and  awful  depths? 
Each  step  ye  take  along  Futurity's 
Dark  path,  ye  take  in  blind  uncertainty. 
I  see  your  lifted  foot  project  e'en  now 
Sheer  o'er  the  brink  of  final  destiny. 
Back  !  back  !  ye  tread  on  vacancy.     But,  ah  ! 
Ye  cannot  back.     Into  the  Bottomless 
Ye  topple  headlong,  and  are  seen  no  more. 

Some  doubt,  I  know,  their  Immortality. 
They  might  with  equal  reason  doubt  they  are. 
This  shaking,  foul,  Serbonian  bog, 
Low  lying,  bordering  th'  Infernal  Pool, 
Is  surely  not  man's  highest.     Wherefore  else 
Above  him  are  the  everlasting  heavens, 
Inviting  him  to  soar  ?     Why  has  he  wings 
If  not  to  use  them  ?     Purposeless  and  vain 
Are  half  his  powers,  himself  a  grand  mistake, 
If  the  Creator  meant  his  end  should  be 

Swine-like  to  sink,  and  perish  in  the  mire. 

i 
All  unbelief  is  deep  self-ignorance. 

If  not  immortal,  man  is  nature's  lie  ; 


NEW    YEAR.  127 

And  the  great  pillars  of  Creation  rest 

On  nothing  but  deceit.     Audacious  thought  ! 

That  God  doth  mock  His  creatures  ;  doth  implant 

Unutterable  falsehood  in  man's  heart, 

In  merest  wantonness,  to  make  Him  sport 

With  his  fond  fallacies  and  guileful  dreams 

Of  an  Hereafter  ne'er  to  be  enjoyed  ! 

Why  Memory  ?  or  Conscience  why  ? 

Or  why,  if  then  their  functions  are  to  cease, 

Are  they  most  active  in  the  final  hour  ? 

If  nature's  weak,  not  so  are  they  ;    they  seem 

Instead,  such  fearful  energy  is  theirs, 

As  if  aroused  from  life-long  slumber  now 

To  act  their  plenary  and  proper  part. 

Of  all  the  dread  affronts  to  Virtue  done, 

That  none  forgets,  no  more  than  this  forgives. 

Ten  thousand  fictions  that  endure  in  health, 
Touched  by  the  grim  reality  of  death, 
Dissolve  and  disappear.     Wrenched  from  the  grasp 
All  sublunary  good,  and  standing  there 
On  the  dim  borders  of  the  world,  the  Soul 
Trembling  revolves  each  terrible  PERHAPS  ! 
Perhaps  there  is  a  God,  and  death,  perhaps, 


128  N  E  W     YEAR. 

Is  not  the  end  of  being,  nor  the  end 

Of  suffering  either.     This  capacity 

Of  pain,  now  wrung  with  mortal  agonies, 

What  if  th'  inseparable  property 

Of  something  that  survives  ?     What  if  the  Mind, 

That  late,  deliriously  at  work,  transformed 

Each  innocent  and  familiar  thing  around, 

Into  some  hideous,  foul,  accursed  shape, 

Peopled  the  vacant  air  with  mocking  fiends, 

And  made  the  pleasant  chamber  seem  a  hell, 

Unhinged  by  Sin,  incurably  insane, 

Should  in  Eternity  be  evermore 

The  tortured  victim  of  sick  fancies,  still 

Vexed  with  infernal  nightmares  and  fierce  dreams. 

Delirious  tossings  on  a  fiery  sea 

Of  howling,  horrible  imaginings — 

Infernalized  within,  the  outward  hell 

Be  but  the  shadowy  scene  and  correspondence, 

The  picture  and  projection  of  itself, 

Predominating  presence  everywhere, 

Whose  potent  spells  malignant,  Paradise 

Would  make  appear,  the  region  of  the  dammed  ? 

O  ye,  who  make  your  Bible  a  Perhaps, 

See  borrowed  here  a  leaf  from  vour  own  book 


NEW    YEAR.  129 

Hinting  a  horror,  infinite  and  deep, 
As  that  abyss  of  fear,  you  say,  we  feign. 

Though  God  is  good,  because  man  has  the  law 
Of  Duty  broke,  that  binds  and  evermore 
Preserves  the  total  universe  from  wreck  ; 
With  malice  'gainst  his  Maker  struck  a  blow 
That  to  Creation's  farthest  depths  sent  down 
A  thrill  of  boundless  horror  and  dismay — 
What  wonder,  Fear,  in  various  doubtful  shape, 
Now  like  some  hell-hound  breathing  hard  behind 
In  hot  pursuit  ;  a  rushing  presence  now  ; 
A  noise  of  something,  passing  swiftly  by, 
Or  hovering  o'er  with  outstretched  dragon  wings, 
Casting  a  chill  portentous  shadow  down — 
Afflicts  the  trembling,  self-accusing  heart  ! 

High  faculties  involve  high  destinies, 
For  weal  or  woe.     If  exercised  aright, 
Harmoniously,  and  as  God  ordains, 
They  shall  exalt  to  heights  of  happiness 
And  honor,  far  above  man's  utmost  thought. 
But,  ah  !    if  some  infernal  frenzy  seize 
The  soul,  or  foulest  demon  of  misrule 
Obtain  admission  once  and  lord  it  there, 
9 


130  NEW    YEAR. 

If  Reason,  Conscience  be  cast  down,  despoiled 

Of  their  prerogatives,  and  anarchy 

And  ceaseless  strife  intestine  rage,  and  fierce 

Embroilment  with  high  Heaven  ensue, 

Then  farewell  heaven,  and  all  hell's  horrors,  hail  ! 

Rebound  shall  follow  each  rebellious  act 

Aimed  at  th'  Omnipotent  ;    for  how  can  he, 

However  vast  his  energies,  expect  to  cope 

With  one  like  God  ?    His  giant  faculties 

Shall  then  be  mighty  only  to  inflict 

Self-torment.     Then  shall  Memory  unfold 

To  Conscience  her  terrific  scroll,  o'erwrit 

With  the  sure  record  of  the  Soul's  misdeeds 

Traced  there  indelibly,  and  hold  it  up 

And  close  it  never,  though  the  soul  well  nigh 

Invert  itself  in  the  intensity 

Of  its  self-loathing  ;  though  it  shrivel  up 

Beneath  the  withering  of  its  own  contempt  ; 

Though  rent  and  racked  with  agonies  of  Remorse  ; 

Though  all  aghast  from  momentary  dread 

Of  new  outpourings  of  Jehovah's  wrath  ; 

It  yet  in  no  wise  may  forget  or  blink 

Of  all  its  countless  crimes  a  single  one. 

'Tis  even  so  !  Those  awful  Opposites, 


NEW    YEAR.  131 

Supremest  Good  and  Evil,  Heaven  and  Hell, 
Spanned  by  the  infinites  of  Hope  and  Fear, 
Lie  near  and  neighboring  to  each  soul  of  man — 
Each  brought  to  it  so  near  by  guilt  or  grace, 
One  knows  not  which  is  nearest,  this  or  that. 

O  might  there  enter  the  dull  ears  of  men, 
A  cry  of  wailing  and  of  warning  shrieked 
From  the  abyss,  a  fierce  and  terrible  cry, 
To  fright  them  back  from  ruin  ;   make  them  cease 
Soul  suicide,  and  everlasting  death  ! 
But,  ah  !  would  this,  even  this  aVail  to  turn 
Them  from  their  folly?     Heard  they  not,  ere  now, 
Celestial  voices  testify  and  tell, 
And  yet  would  not  believe  ?     The  most,  not  all. 
O  ye  repentant  ones  !  raise  your  wet  eyes, 
See  Christ's  recovering  arm  stretched  ever  forth, 
The  same  extended  once  on  Calvary, 
And  nailed  for  your  redemption.     Trust  it  now  ! 
In  all  the  universe  there's  naught  so  free, 
As  the  free  pardon  of  all  gracious  Heaven. 

NEW  YEAR,  1841. 


I32  NEW    YEAR, 


THE    FUTURE    LIFE. 

ON  the  strong  pinions  of  the  fleeting  Years, 
We  all  are  borne  unceasingly  aloft, 
Straight  toward  the  azure  of  Eternity. 
That  infinite  and  all-embracing  Cope 
Of  Mystery,  we  soon  shall  penetrate, 
And  be  as  gods  in  knowledge.     We  who  now 
Are  ignorance  and  feebleness,  blind  moles 
That  burrow  in  the  ground,  are  destined  yet 
To  know  as  we  are  known.     Each  gordian  knot 
And  awful  problem  of  our  being  solved, 
Dwelling  in  light  forever.     Can  it  be? 
Ay,  even  so  !    Bear  witness,  Earth  and  Heaven  ! 
If  myriads  such  as  we  are  have  not  passed, 
Upon  the  Bosom  of  the  Year  just  flown, 
Up  thence  into  the  Infinite  ;  though  now 
No  more  incarnate  ;  for  that  flesh  and  blood 
Cannot  inherit  it,  nor  yet  abide 
So  awful  an  amazement,  as  there  smites 
The  soul,  amid  the  uncovered  mysteries 
Of  that  illimitable  and  dread  domain. 


NEW    YEAR.  133 

If  one  ere  now,  as  ancient  Seer,  while  yet 
A  habitant  of  clay,  has  caught  a  brief 
Apocalyptic  glimpse  of  Things  Unseen  ; 
Or  seen,  perchance,  a  ghostly  visitant, 
At  dead  of  night  when  deep  sleep  falls  on  men, 
A  mortal  horror  seized  him,  and  anon 
"A  cold  shuddering  dew  dipped  him  all  o'er,"* 
His  hair  stood  up,  and  all  his  joints  were  loosed, 
Or  he  at  once  fell  prostrate  like  one  dead. 
Such  gelid  influence  to  freeze  the  blood, 
Dry  up  the  sap  and  sources  of  his  strength, 
And  palsy  all  the  instruments  of  life, 
Have  objects  supernatural.     How  then, 
Unless  of  fleshly  garment  all  unclothed, 
And  clothed  with  other  and  adapted  garb, 
Like  that  which  spirits  wear,  could'  he  behold, 
With  unaccustomed  eyes,  the  naked  face 
Of  the  immediate  Godhead,  and  yet  live  ! 
Not  Seraphim  or  Cherubim  dare  look, 
Familiarly,  with  bold  and  open  gaze, 
Nor  but  with  timid  awe  and  shaded  brow, 
Upward  to  that  high  throne  on  which  He  sits, 
So  blinding  is  the  brightness,  piercing,  pure. 

*  Comus,  line  803. — Milton. 


134  NEW    YEAR. 

Sh.ould  one  of  earthly  mould,  with  mortal  weakness  girt, 

Intrude  in  that  Dread  Presence,  how  at  once 

Would  he,  both  by  the  lightning  and  the  light, 

Be  all  transfixed  and  panged  in  every  part, 

All  scorched  and  blasted  and  consumed  away  ! 

But  disembodied  Spirits  at  this  hour 

Are  passing  thence,  made  able  to  endure 

The  infinite  amazement.     O  my  Soul  ! 

What  shuts  thee  out  this  moment  from  the  sight, 

Except  this  crumbling  wall  of  fragile  flesh, 

Now  weakly  tottering,  on  which  Time  beats 

Unceasingly,  exposed  besides  to  all 

The  thousand  shocks  of  mortal  accident? 

This  hindrance  broken  down,  ah  !  then,  thou  too 

Shalt  meet  those  piercing  and  perusing  eyes, 

That  judge  thee  while  they  search  thee  ;  hear  that  voice, 

Which  shakes  the  universe  ;  that  spake 

The  all-creating  fiat,  breaking  first 

The  everlasting  silence  ;  that  pronounced, 

With  stern  and  dreadful  emphasis  of  wrath, 

Then  first  provoked,  the  Malison  and  Doom, 

That  down  to  just  damnation  sank  for  aye 

The  apostate  sons  of  heaven,  of  which  the  sound 

Through  all  the  infernal  caverns  echoes  still. 


NEW    YEAR.  135 

What  tremblings  and  what  swoonings  of  dismay, 
Await  us  in  that  solemn  hour,  that  opes 
The  portals  of  Eternity,  and  o'er 
Its  mystic  threshold  bears  and  shuts  us  in — 
The  hour  of  birth  into  another  life  ! 
Sooner  or  later  it  must  come  to  all. 
But  who  so  dastard  or  so  grovelling, 
As  e'er  to  wish  'twere  less  inevitable, 
As  not  to  hail  it  though  so  full  of  dread  ? 
Immortal  Thought — uncrowded  and  unchecked 
By  the  insulting  and  encroaching  banks 
Of  scooped  material  channels,  that  sometime 
Did  shore  and  shallow  it — shall  then  burst  forth, 
O'erflowing  and  redundant  as  a  sea  ; 
And  in  its  liquid,  clear,  unfathomed  depths 
Shall  be  reflection  and  solution  seen 
Of  endless  Mysteries  of  the  Universe  ; 
All  former  truth  and  knowledge,  though  as  great 
As  Newton  boasted,  being  swallowed  up 
And  lost,  as  rain-drops  in  the  ocean.     Stars 
And  Suns  innumerable — not  as  here 
By  distance  dimmed  and  dwindled,  but  full-orbed 
And  unimaginably  bright — above  its  vast 
Immeasurable  horizon,  lo  !   shall  rise 


136  NEW    YEAR. 

And  set  no  more  forever.     From  the  face 
Of  all  things,  shall  be  lifted  and  rolled  off 
The  wide  concealing  darkness,  laying  bare 
The  mighty  hand  of  causal  Deity, 
Beneath  the  deep  foundations  of  the  world 
Swift  touching  all  the  springs  of  harmony. 
In  vain  search  wearied,  groping  evermore 
In  guessing  ignorance,  or  with  blind  plunge 
Leaping  despairingly  we  know  not  where, 
How  blessed,  how  divine,  to  rest  tired  feet 
On  the  Eternal  Rock  of  Certainty  ! 

O,  most  exalted  fate  of  man  !  the  Soul, 
That  with  invincible  instinct  yearned  to  know, 
Thus  privileged,  within  the  Azure  Veil, 
Into  the  Unprofaned  and  Holy  Place 
And  secret  Sanctuary  of  the  Sky 
To  look — yea  !  unforbidden  pass  the  high 
Once  inaccessible  threshold,  to  the  Shrined, 
Adorable  Wonder  and  the  All  in  All ; 
To  climb  the  Heaven  of  Heavens,  the  Height  of  Heights, 
And  from  supremest  altitudes,  with  keen 
And  multipresent  faculty  behold 
Creation  all  in  prospect,  seen  at  once  ; 


NEW    YEAR.  137 

Or,  with  accompanying  Archangel,  soar 

On  sociable  swift  wing,  so  swift  scarce  sight 

Can  follow  or  thought  overtake,  far  thence 

To  the  dim  frontiers  and  extremest  bounds 

Of  starred  immensity,  along  the  bright 

And  blazing  pathway  of  unnumbered  worlds, 

Rolling  forever  in  their  mighty  orbs — 

Waving  glad  pinions  to  th'  eternal  chime 

Of  sphere-born  harmonies  ;  now  lost 

In  the  effulgence  of  some  central  Sun, 

Dispenser  of  wide  day  to  planets  round, 

As  briefly  stooping  holy  feet  to  bathe 

In  luminous  fountains  full  as  at  the  first, 

By  the  fierce  heat  and  radiance  unconsumed  ; — 

Emerging  sparkling  thence,  limbs  dripping  light, 

And  trailing  splendors  through  the  Ethereal  Deep, 

With  unstayed  wing,  till  on  the  shore  arrived 

Of  Chaos,  void  and  without  form  and  dark, 

They  stand  spectators  of  creative  acts, 

Hear  sounding  through  th'  abyss  once  more 

Th'  omnific  word  :  "  Let  Be  !  "  to  unborn  worlds. 

The  immaterial  Spirit,  fed  with  strength 
Unfailing,  knows  no  weariness,  and  needs 


138  NEW    YEAR. 

Nor  sleep  nor  rest,  but  buoyant,  fresh, 
Throughout  the  lapse  of  unimaginable  years, 
Without  one  void  oblivious  moment,  works. 
And  as  one  day  is  as  a  thousand  years 
To  Him  who  fills  Eternity,  yet  finds 
In  every  moment  room  enough  to  be, 
Ev'n  so  to  man — in  that  immortal  realm, 
With  his  accelerated  powers  of  thought, 
(Since  Time  is  being,  measured  by  the  whirl 
Of  consciousness  as  well  as  circling  spheres, 
By  varying  states  of  mind  made  swift  or  slow)- 
In  the  expanded  limits  of  an  hour, 
May  ages  of  existence  seem  to  roll, 
As  marvellously  prefigured  oft  in  dreams. 

In  that  so  multiplied  Eternity, 
Among  such  scenes,  and  fellowships,  and  acts 
Of  godlike  power  and  glory,  and  events 
Without  a  name  or  parallel  on  earth, 
O  what  a  History  !    O  what  a  Life  ! 
Must  thence  arise  to  our  immortal  selves — 
Amid  all  changes  consciously  the  same, 
Our  cradled  ignorance  remembered  still 
To  swell  the  wonder  of  the  distance  passed, 


NEW    YEAR.  139 

And  make  us  humbler,  as  we  higher  rise, 
Godward,  in  grand  interminable  ascent 
Of  knowledge,  goodness,  purity,  and  love. 

NEW  YEAR,  1842. 


LIFE'S   MYSTERIES. 

OTIME  !  in  thy  far  flight  among  the  spheres, 
That,  on  soft  axles  turning,  still  repeat 
The  ceaseless  round  of  years  and  ages,  say  ! 
Is,  everywhere  as  here,  Death  by  thy  side 
To  reap  perpetual  harvests — with  clean  sweep 
Gathering  the  growing  corn  of  sentient  life  ? 
How  many  white  and  waving  fields,  all  wet 
With  weeping  dews,  have  ye  not  garnered  here 
In  the  long  lapse  of  by-gone  centuries, — 
So  that  of  former  generations  none  remain  ! 
What  boundless  carnage  that  shall  never  cease  ! 
What  piles  of  victims  heaped  up  every  hour  ! 
How  earth's  o'erspread  with  ashes  of  the  slain  ! 

How  populous  is  Hades  !  Dreadful  Death, 
Familiar  Mystery,  what  art  thou  ? — thou, 


140  NEW    YEAR. 

That  mak'st  the  brightest  forms  of  loveliness 
Hideous,  and  quell'st  and  renderest  void  at  once 
All  strength  in  man,  all  consciousness  and  sense — 
Supplanting  Life,  that  other  mystery,  with  thine. 
Or  what  is  Death  or  what  is  Life  none  knoweth,  none. 

Lo  !  I,  an  atom  'midst  Infinitude, 
Poised  trembling  on  the  moment's  shifting  point, 
Amid  circumfluent  Eternity, 
Bewildered  look  around  for  my  lost  being. 
With  stunned  and  staggered  faculties  I  muse 
And  moot  my  own  existence.     Can  it  be  ? 
"Pis  surely  all  a  dream  ;  but  then  to  dream, 
Implies  I  am  :  I  therefore  cannot  doubt. 
To  my  own  consciousness,  I  stand  revealed, 
A  waking  and  irrefutable  Reality. 
I  am,  but  -was  not —  a  mere  thing  of  yesterday, 
That  some  Power,  all  power  above,  evoked 
From  nothing,  and  said  Be  !  and  straight  I  was. 

I  seek  to  know  myself.     To  me  is  given, 
Passions,  Susceptibilities  and  Powers  : 
I  feel,  think,  reason,  judge,  remember,  know  ; 
Can  love,  admire,  worship  ;  have  sympathy 
And  fellowship  with  God  Himself  ; 


NEW    YEAR.  141 

Can  speak  on  themes  a  Gabriel  meditates, 
And  learn  e'en  here  the  Science  of  the  Skies. 
Whence  have  I  these,  or  where  ?     How  wonderful, 
That  boundless  Thought  has  bodily  organs,  caged 
In  narrowest  space,  a  maniple  of  brain  ! 
This  ebbless  flux  and  tide  of  consciousness, 
Whence  comes  it,  whither  goes  it,  who  can  tell  ? 

All,  all  is  Mystery.     'Tis  everywhere — 
Within  me  and  without  me  and  around  ; 
Here  underlying,  their  o'er-canopying, 
Earth  and  th'  encircling  Heavens  ;  all  this  fair  show 
And  apparition  of  the  Universe — 
This  sensible  material  Display, 
Finite  projection  of  the  Infinite, 
The  visible  vestments  of  th'  invisible  God, 
Wherewith  He  for  a  time  enwraps  Himself, 
To  be  put  off  and  folded  when  He  will, 
Ungarmented  and  naked  then  to  stand 
Fully  revealed  to  dazed  and  wondering  eyes. 

O,  what  are  other  Mysteries,  compared  with  Him 
Who  is  their  Centre,  Sum  and  Source  ! 
To  whom  all  Time's  an  "Everlasting  Now" 
All  space  a  "  Universal  HERE."     He  fills, 


142  N E  W    YEAR. 

Pervades,  encircles  all.     He's  ever  near. 

Go  where  I  will,  I  go  not  from  His  presence. 

His  most  august  companionship  I  share, 

When  I  go  out,  come  in,  lie  down,  rise  up. 

O,  how  can  I,  who  cease  not  to  trangress, 

Abide  such  awful  scrutiny  ;  this  dread 

Proximity  ;  this  most  mysterious, 

Actual  environment  of  the  Infinite — 

Of  Him  the  Jealous,  Just,  and  Pure,  who  winks 

At  no  iniquity  ;  the  very  thought 

Of  wrong,  abhors  and  execrates — how  much, 

Is  then  to  be  evinced,  when,  with  a  frown 

That  darkens  Heaven,  He  speaks  the  Words  of  Doom! 

Thou  Universal  Presence  !  present  to  help, 
Infirm  and  faint,  by  Sin's  Circaean  draught 
Intoxicate,  how  unassisted  can  I  tread 
The  Narrow  Path — steep,  arduous,  beetling,  close 
On  Ruin's  brink,  where  one  erroneous  step 
May  be  forever  fatal —  I  who  reel 
And  stumble  at  broad  noo-n  :  who  dream  awake 
And  clutch  at  shadows  :  dupe  of  thousand  arts, 
Of  infinite  illusions,  scattered  thick 
In  all  my  pathway,  by  th'  Arch  Foe  of  man  ! 


NEW    YEAR.  143 

O  hear  my  whispered  prayer  for  strength, 
For  guidance  !     Lay  Thy  finger  on  my  soul, 
And  regulate  its  springs  of  action  !     Touch 
My  eyes  and  ears,  that  this  unreal  scene 
Of  devilish  enchantment  may  have  power 
To  cheat  no  more  !     Endue  with  Fortitude  ! 
Confirm  my  Faith  !  and  let  my  Love  and  Zeal 
Burn  like  a  furnace,  while  I  urge  my  feet 
Reluctant,  up  the  steep  and  stubborn  Hill 
Of  Difficulty,  over  which  the  Path 
Of  Life  e'er  lies  ;  and  still  pursue  my  way, 
Whate'er  betides  or  threatens. — fearing  Thee, 
Fear  nothing  else — strong  in  Thy  strength, 
Until  I  reach  the  end.     The  end  is  near. 

NEW  YEAR,  1843. 


144  .NEW    YEAR. 


ACCOUNTABILITY. 

A  BROAD  in  the  keen  air  amid  the  blaze 
JLJL.     Of  starlight,  come  I  forth  to  meditate 
The  Closing  Year.     How  beautiful  is  Night, 
Seen  through  a  clear  and  frosty  atmosphere  ! 
This  bright  apocalypse  of  myriad  worlds, 
By  her  made  manifest,  unseen  by  day, 
How  it  affiliates  and  lifts  to  God  ! 
Buoyant,  afloat  in  an  invisible  element, 
Voyaging  the  Inane,  is  this  brave  Universe, 
Swept  on  for  aye  before  th'  Almighty's  breath. 
All  share  the  mighty  movement.     Even  now, 
Returning  from  a  distant  cruise  around  the  Sun, 
The  Earth  ploughs  swiftly  the  Ethereal  Deep, 
Bearing  me  onward  to  my  fate  eterne. 

O  God  !    the  privilege  of  Being  Thou  dost  rate 
Too  high  to  waste  it  without  recompense. 
It  is  on  terms  of  price  and  penalty 
This  Reasoning  Life's  bestowed,  held  stringently 
To  just  conditions  of  felicity. 


NEW    YEAR.  145 

Ah,  me  !    have  I  not  snapt  each  ligature 

Of  hope,  ten  thousand,  thousand  times  destroyed. 

Around  me  everywhere,  shut  out  by  this 

Opaque  environment  of  flesh,  is  not 

Th'  Invisible  Mystery,  the  Spirit  World, 

Thine  awful  Habitation  !     Touched  by  Death 

Without  transition  instantly  I'm  there. 

What  if,  through  that  rent  veil  of  flesh, 

Should  burst  the  dreadful  vision  of  Thy  frown  ! 

In  naught  does  man  so  vehemently  avouch 
His  independent  self-hood  as  in  Sin. 
Each  petty  unit  of  the  race  throws  down 
Bold  challenge  of  defiance  :    sets  himself 
With  hostile  fixed  antagonism  of  will, 
Against  the  reasonable,  most  righteous  will 
And  fiat  of  the  Almighty  ;  disregards 
The  thunder  and  the  terror  of  that  voice 
Sounding  from  Sinai  over  all  the  earth  ; 
And  dares  to  every  awful  interdict 
And  absolute,  "  Thou  shalt  not !  "  to  oppose 
Resistingly  its  resolute,  "  I  will  !  " 

Whence  comes  this  weakness  of  divine  decree  ? 
This  impotence  of  Heaven's  omnipotence  ? 


146  NEW     YEAR. 

Omnipotence  of  human  impotence  ? 

In  the  Material  Universe,  God  speaks, 

And  it  is  done  :  Commands,  and  it  stands  fast. 

There's  neither  let,  nor  possibility  of  let, 

To  His  immediate  and  resistless  will. 

Lo  !    His  unburdened  arm,  outstretched  in  space, 

Upholds  the  vastness,  and  directs  the  course 

Of  an  amazing  multitude  of  worlds  ; 

Nor  would  it  be  oppressed,  though  thereon  hung 

A  multiplication  of  that  multitude, 

Outnumbering  number  and  engulfing  thought. 

Tempest,  and  Thunder,  and  the  Earthquake's  might 

Rocking  the  globe,  or  up  through  earth's  split  sides 

Heaving  the  vast,  deep,  underlying  rocks, 

Are  but  th'  escapings  of  a  boundless  Force, 

Pent  up  in  Nature's  prison-house  and  chained, 

But  which  set  loose  from  all  controlling  Law, 

With  dread  explosive  violence  and  jar, 

Would  dislocate  the  spheres,  and  straightway  rend 

Atom  from  atom  bringing  chaos  back. 

Yoked  to  th'  eternal  mandate,  this  same  Force 

And  sum  of  Forces,  meekly  ministrant, 

Majestically  calm,  God's  pleasure  works  ; 

Binds,  balances,  and  harmonizes  all  ; 


NEW     YEAR.  147 

Wheeling  each  particle  into  its  place, 

And  marshaling  sublimest  aggregates, 

Till,  like  to  a  well-ordered  army,  moves 

Th'  obedient  Whole,  led  by  the  Lord  of  Hosts. 

O  wonderful  to  tell  !  that  whereas  lies 

Not  one  unmastered  particle  beyond 

This  whirlwind  sweep  of  all-embracing  Power, 

Mysterious,  ubiquitous,  immense, 

No  atom  but  subserves  its  proper  end — 

Man,  standing  in  the  midst,  because  a  Power 

Distinct,  peculiar,  spiritual,  and  free, 

Moved  only  as  self-moved  by  force  of  will, 

Is  able  to  resist  and  does  resist, 

A  potent  rebel  though  a  helpless  worm. 

If  Moral  Freedom  be  not  what  it  seems, 
A  self-approving  Conscience  would  convict 
Nature  of  perjury.     Her  loud  protests, 
And  proclamations  of  a  wrath  to  come, 
Were  proved  a  sham,  a  mockery,  and  a  lie. 
Neither  untruth,  nor  semblance  of  untruth 
Can  emanate  from  God  ;  then,  surely,  He 
Has  not  built  up  His  Moral  Universe 
On  juggling  falsities  and  rottenness, 


I48  NEW    YEAR. 

From  corner-stone  to  top-stone,  planned  a  cheat. 

If  our  own  hearts  condemn  us,  warpt, 

Purblind  and  partial,  knowing  but  in  part, 

And  judging  by  a  standard  far  too  low, 

Th'  Omniscient  God  is  greater  than  our  hearts, 

Formed  them  and  fashioned  them,  and  cannot  be 

Forger  of  falsehood,  author  of  deceit. 

That  innate  sense  and  certainty  of  guilt, 

Discovers  and  determines  past  a  doubt, 

Despite  all  janglings  of  philosophy, 

And  the  vain  teachings  of  mistaken  creeds, 

Howe'er  curtailed  and  crippled  in  his  powers  ; 

Man  still  retains  th'  essentials  of  a  man  ; 

Is  still  the  uncaused  cause  of  moral  acts, 

Obedient  to  no  impulse  but  free  choice. 

Make  search,  and  see,  if  anywhere  you  find 

In  all  the  chambers  of  your  consciousness, 

A  single  trace  of  true  necessity  ! 

If  not  found  there,  'tis  nowhere  to  be  found, 

For  that's  the  utmost  goal  of  human  quest. 

Thus  far  no  farther  ;  none  can  go  beyond 

Nature's  finality  and  fenced  extreme  : 

Who  would,  swings  off  o'er  utter  emptiness. 

As  well  seek  cause  for  natural  effect 


NEW    YEAR,  149 

Outside  the  limits  of  created  things. 
Forsaking  Nature's  voiceful  oracles, 
Sincere  and  trustful,  and  the  Word  of  God, 
Go,  question  nothingness,  and  wait  response 
From  the  dumb  darkness  of  th'  unechoing  Void  ! 

I  feel  myself  responsible,  and  am. 
The  vital  and  indubitable  facts 
And  affirmations  of  my  consciousness, 
I  reverently  accept,  and  dare  not  doubt. 
I  am  not  wiser,  nor  would  wish  to  be, 
Than  my  Almighty  Former — wiser  means, 
The  fatal  folly  of  the  first  of  fools, 
Who  doubts  the  certainties  of  sense, 
That  fire  will  burn  his  flesh,  and  poison  kill  ; 
That  truth  is  truth,  reality  is  real. 
He  witnesses  against  me.     God  Himself 
Accuses  and  convinces  me  of  sin. 
In  tones  of  awful  terror,  Him  I  hear 
Denouncing  endless  banishment  and  death, 
For  that  I'm  guilty  and  without  excuse. 
If  I  could  feel  my  sin  was  not  my  own, 
I  might  retort  ;  rejudge  the  Judge  ;  accuse 
Th'  Accuser.     Conscience  were  my  Champion, 
Not  my  relentless  Punisher,  as  now — 


150  NEW    YEAR. 

Vulture  of  Vengeance,  with  hooked  buried  beak 
Tearing  my  vitals,  giving  no  respite. 

How  ravishing  th'  Evangel,  that  reveals 
Forgiveness  ev'n  to  me,  through  penitence 
And  humble  trust  in  the  atoning  Vicarship 
Of  Him,  the  penal  Substitute,  whose  merit  high 
O'ertops  the  infinite  of  human  guilt, 
Whereby  the  chain  fast  rivetted  by  Fate 
Drops  off,  unbinding  Cause  and  Consequence  ! 

O,  what  a  sterile  soil  is  human  hearts, 
Where  scarce  the  seeds  of  Wisdom  e'er  take  root  ! 
The  most  will  not  believe,  though  Heaven  protests, 
And  by  th'  impossibility  that  God 
Should  lie,  they're  urgently  persuaded.     E'en 
Thus  hard  to  prove  to  fools  their  folly.     Hell 
Is  bottomless  because  Truth  underlieth  not ; 
But  foolish  builders  still  go  on  to  build 
On  base  of  vanity,  and  pile  up  lies. 

Ye  devotees  of  lust  !  'twere  well  ye  knew, 
Your  cherished  vices  hide  a  mortal  sting — 
What  time  the  incubation  is  complete, 
Ye  hatch  fell  scorpions,  nestling  in  your  flesh, 
And  darting  anguish  throughout  all  your  bones, 


NEW    YEAR.  151 

Akin  to  that  of  the  undying  worm. 

And  ye,  who  with  a  mad  idolatry 

Of  wealth  bow  down  to  it  alone  !  indulge 

A  pregnant  secret  whispered  in  your  ear — 

God  is  not  Mammon,  therefore  take  ye  heed, 

His  name  I'm  told  is  Jealousy  in  hell. 

Ye  politicians,  politic  for  self  !  who  seek, 

Through  dirtiest  by-paths,  place  and  power  ; 

Who  in  the  Nation's  august  sanctuary 

Dare  sit,  and  with  profanest  arrogance 

Make  laws,  yourselves  contemptuous  of  all  law  ; 

Whose  only  Article  of  Faith,  the  clear 

Indubitable  expedience  of  wrong  ; 

Who  abrogate  the  laws  of  Heaven,  enact 

Injustice,  and  from  statute  book  expunge 

Each  damnatory  clause,  in  tenderness 

To  those  feloniously  unfortunate, 

Tremble  !  if  true,  as  I  suspect,  there's  still 

An  older  legislation  unrepealed, 

Whose  penal  feature's  quite  beyond  your  reach. 

We,  this  whole  people,  have  sinned  grievously. 
A  fierce  and  sordid  Selfishness  has  seized 
And  barred  each  avenue,  and  made  our  hearts 


152  NEW    YEAR. 

A  savage  fortress,  meant  to  be  the  home 
Of  all  the  graceful  charities  of  life. 
I  have  most  sad  forebodings,  O  my  Country  ? 
Favored,  elect  of  God,  and  set  supreme  ! 
Methinks,  I  see  fast  gathering  even  now, 
A  dark,  o'ershadowing  cloud  of  wrath, 
Nursing  pernicious  thunderbolts  of  fire 
To  scathe  the  Nation  scornful  of  His  choice. 
Let  us  be  penitent,  and  with  strong  prayer 
Assault  His  Throne  of  Mercy  day  and  night ! 


THE    FLIGHT  OF  PEGASUS.* 

"     A      HORSE  !  a  horse  !"  King  Richard  cried, 
-^LJL.    "  My  kingdom  for  a  horse  !  " — and  died. 
The  royal  hunchback  bid  full  high, 
But  who  could  death  e'er  bribe,  or  buy  ? 

*The  original  title  to  the  following  trifle,  was:  "The  Carrier  Carried:  or,  The 
Flight  of  Pegasus,  a  Poem,  dedicated  to  their  Republican  Highnesses,  the  generous 
Patrons  of  the  Newark  Daily  Advertiser,  by  Robin  Goodfellow,  Poet  Laureate, 
etc.,  Kalcndae  Januarii,  MDCCCLIII."  The  author  is  aware  that  Carrier  Addresses 
do  not  rank  high  as  literature  ;  and  but  for  its  supposed  historic  interest  he  would 
not  think  of  introducing  here  so  trivial  a  performance.  It  being  a  resume  of  im 
portant  events  when  everything  was  fresh,  this  circumstance  may  be  allowed 
perhaps,  to  weigh  against  its  lack  of  dignity.  The  historian,  Macaulay,  did  not 
disdain  to  profit  by  popular  ballads  and  such  like  melodious  trifles  (nugce  canoree), 
considering  that  what  was  contemporary  was  more  likely  to  reflect  the  true  spirit 
of  the  time,  than  statelier  compositions  written  later. 


NEW     YEAR. 

Your  humble  Carrier  last  night, 
Wishing  to  try  an  upward  flight, 
Felt  such  unutterable  need, 
And  so  he  cried   "A  steed  !  a  steed  !" 
What  time  his  eyes  began  to  roll 
Full  of  fine  frenzy  and  of  soul  ; 
Intent  the  highest  heaven  to  climb 
Of  bold  invention  and  of  rhyme. 
The  Carrier,  all  ought  to  know  it, 
Is  the  Republic's  Laureate  Poet, 
And  should  not  therefore  always  plod, 
With  soul  ne'er  lifted  'bove  the  sod. 

He  wished,  we  said,  last  night,  a  horse, 
A  true-winged  Pegasus,  of  course  ; 
And  lo  !  down  through  the  sky  there  came, 
Flashing  and  swift  as  lightning  flame, 
What  he  so  ardently  desired, 
One  with  poetic  instinct  fired  ; 
A  steed  that  drew  immortal  breath, 
One  who  ne'er  knew,  nor  can  know,  death  ; 
Who  many  a  rider  had  o'erhurled 
The  flaming  boundaries  of  the  world  ; 
Who  once  Bellerophon  did  throw, 


154  NEW     YEAR. 

On  the  Aleian  fields  below  ; 
i 

The  very  same  old  Homer  rode  ; 

And  who,  more  lately,  Shakespeare  strode  ; 
And  Milton — most  sublime  of  soul, 
Now  here,  now  rapt  beyond  the  pole — 
Though  he,  'tis  true,  did  sometimes  choose 
Urania  for  his  holier  Muse, 
Whose  flight's  above  the  towering 
Of  even  strong  Pegasean  wing  , 
Uplifting  him  to  regions  where 
The  poet  drew  empyreal  air. 

He  was  a  fine  ethereal  creature, 
Most  admirable  in  shape  and  feature, 
But  very  dreadful,  and  no  wonder, 
With  eyes  of  lightning,  neck  of  thunder. 
He  shook  his  mane,  he  snorted,  rared — 
But  when  was  Yankee  ever  scared  ? 
He  at  his  heart  may  feel  a  flutter, 
But  scarcely  likes  the  fact  to  utter. 
Your  Poet  Laureate  won't  deny 
He  felt  at  first  a  little  shy, 
But  having  put  his  hand  to  plough 
He  thought  it  shame  to  falter  now. 


NEW     YEAR.  155 

Once  on  your  back,  my  dear,  I  count 
You'll  not  me  easily  dismount  ; 
Without  ado,  or  fiddle-faddle 
I'll  jump  at  once  into  the  saddle." 
No  sooner  said  than  done — the  deed, 
Did  not  displease  the  noble  steed  ; 
Though  by  the  act  somewhat  astounded, 
He  laughed  'till  all  the  hills  resounded. 
Its  very  impudence,  it  seemed, 
Or  recommended  or  redeemed 
The  daring  want  of  ceremony 
In  treating  him  as  common  pony. 
Quite  lucky  this,  else  his  next  feat 
Had  been  a  tumble  from  his  seat ; 
He  found  it  easy,  true,  to  win  it, 
But  could  have  kept  it  not  a  minute, 
Had  not  the  Courser  been  content 
To  bide  awhile  his  management. 

They  now  were  ready  for  the  start. 
So,  upward  from  the  ground  they  dart, 
And  sweeping  close  to  First  Church  tower, 
Your  bold  equestrian  marked  the  hour. 
He  saw,  the  moon  then  shining  bright, 


156  NEW    YEAR. 

'Twas  near  the  witching  time  of  night  ; 
So  asked — "  Before  ten  minutes  run 
Can  we  be  standing  in  the  sun  ?" 
The  born  of  Neptune  snorted,  "Yes  ! 
In  ten  or  five,  or  even  less." 
"Well  !  seeing  then  there  is  no  hurry, 
We'll  take  it  easy  and  not  worry  ; 
Or  if  you  please  o'er  earth  will  hover 
To  see  what  here  we  can  discover  ; 
And  lest  we  still  arrive  too  soon, 
We'll  touch  a  moment  at  the  moon." 
It  was  agreed  to.     Looking  down 
There  lay  outstretched  his  much-loved  town, 
With  all  its  thriving  industries, 
And  church-spires  pointing  to  the  skies. 
Dear  Newark  !  on  from  year  to  year, 
Still  urge  your  prosperous  career, 
Fulfill  your  destiny  and  duty, 
And  grow  in  virtue,  wealth,  and  beauty. 

Immediately  away  they  went, 
Across  this  mighty  Continent. 
At  WASHINGTON,  the  Seat  of  Laws, 
They  for  an  instant  made  a  pause. 


NEW    YEAR.  157 

The  tidings  of  the  late  election, 

Had  manifestly  reached  that  section. 

Against  the  irruption  of  the  Vandals, 

Whigs — staff  in  hand,  and  shod  with  sandals — 

Stood  ready,  without  further  fuss, 

To  make  a  sudden  exodus 

From  office,  while  that  they  had  breath, 

Thereby  to  escape  being  Pierce'd  to  death.* 

Alas  !  alas  !  the  people's  folly — 

'Tis  very,  very  melancholy. 

Having  no  faith  in  filibuster,! 
Nor  yet  in  silly  noise  and  bluster  ; 
Esteeming  Messieurs  Brag  arid  Bully, 
Consummate  rowdies,  that  would  sully 
The  reputation  of  the  nation.; 
That  obviously  in  moderation 
Sense,  dignity,  and  merit,  lies, 
Not  in  low,  base  vulgarities  ; 
Remembering  what  great  Webster  said, 
Lamented  Webster  lately  dead, 

*  Franklin   Pierce  was  elected   President,  November,   1852,  to  succeed   Millard 
Fillmore,  whose  term  of  office  expired  March  4,  1853. 

t  Alluding  to  the  projects  of  the  filibusters  under  Lopez,   for  the   invasion  of 
Cuba,  promptly  thwarted  by  President  Fillmore. 


158  N E  W    YEAR. 

1  But  being  dead  yet  speaketh  '  "  We 
Live  in  the  Nineteenth  Century 
Of  the  most  blessed  Christian  Era" 
(Always  remembering,  never  weary)  ; 
Believing  most  enormous  guilt 
Must  appertain  to  blood  now  spilt 
In  needless  wars — which  nations  wage 

From  lust  of  conquest,  pride,  or  rage, 

.  < 
Hell-prompted,  met  in  dreadful  duel, 

Remorseless,  senseless,  fierce,  and  cruel, 

For  wholesale  murder,  meant  to  cease, 

Under  Thy  reign,  O  Prince  of  Peace  ! — 

Knowing  'tis  righteousness  exalts  ; 

'Tis  Heaven  gives  safety  from  assaults  ; 

That  sin's  a  hissing  and  reproach, 

As  heaven-taught  ancients  somewhere  broach  ; 

That  lust  is  sin,  in  embryo, 

To  be  brought  forth  in  future  woe  ; 

That  selfish  greed  nor  lawless  lust, 

Not  what  is  covetable,  but  just, 

Becomes  a  Christian  Government — 

The  Carrier  to  the  President 

Pays  tribute,  loyal  and  sincere, 

For  that  his  skirts  from  blood  are  clear. 


NEW    YEAR.  159 

While  God  and  conscience  are  his  rock, 
Let  those  who  will,  revile  and  mock. 

"  Up  !   up  !  away  !  "     Their  course  they  hold 
Now  westward  to  the  land  of  gold, 
Where  ships  were  loading  with  "  the  root  " 
Of  which  "all  evil"  is  the  fruit. 
Then  on  o'er  the  Pacific  Ocean 
They  urge  their  way  with  rapid  motion. 
Fast  sailing,  prows  turned  toward  JAPAN, 
They  spied  the  Fleet  American  * 
Sent  out  of  late,  and  which,  it  seems, 
Has  caused  John  Bull  unquiet  dreams. 
But  he  should  be  more  charitable  ;  , 

Suspicions  are  insufferable. 
U.  S.  merely  means  to  open  schools, 
By  which  these  boors  may  learn  the  rules 
Of  polite  manners  and  good  breeding, 
A  needful,  wise,  and  kind  proceeding, 
Of  which  all  nations  are  to  share 
The  benefit ;  sure  this  is  fair. 

At  CHINA,  where  they  made  short  call, 

*  Commodore  Perry's  expeduion,  which  sailed  in  the  autumn  of  1852,  and  which 
resulted  in  a  favorable  treaty  with  that  country. 


160  NEW     YEAR. 

Vast  crowds  were  climbing  o'er  the  wall, 

Content  no  longer  with  their  fate, 

But  o'er  the  sea  must  emigrate. 

Poor,  vain  disciples  of  Confucius  ! 

Gold's  e'en  to  you  fruit  sweet  and  luscious. 

From  BURMAH,  where  still  signs  appeared 

Of  hateful  war,  the  travelers  steered 

Yet  westward  ;  and,  en  passant,  saw 

Poor  HUNGARY,  passive  'neath  the  claw 

Of  Beardom,  by  which  term  is  meant 

The  Russo-Austrian  government. 

In  far-famed  classic  ITALY, 

They  saw  no  Country  that  was  free 

Save  fair  SARDINIA — more  fair 

Because  an  honored  friend  lives  there,* 

With  one,  who  by  his  side  there  stood, 

A  lovely  type  of  womanhood, 

(Our  representatives  at  Court) — 

Her  seeing,  Pegasus  gave  snort, 

In  sign  of  joyful  recognition, 

For  that  in  many  an  expedition 

She  riding,  sideways,  ladies'  fashion, 

The  frenzy  of  poetic  passion 

*  Hon.  William  B.  Kinney  (our  resident  minister)  and  his  lady. 


NEW     YEAR.  l6i 

Urging,  had  shared  his  loftiest  flight — 
His,  and  the  Muse's  favorite. 

Not  daring  longer  there  to  linger, 
Still  pointing  westward  with  the  finger, 
They  over  Alpine  mountains  soared, 
The  tunnel  through  not  yet  being  bored, 
And,  looking  down,  saw  la  belle  FRANCE, 
Threading  the  mazes  of  a  dance, 
Bewildering,  intricate,  perplexed — 
What  novelty  would  turn  up  next 
'Twere  vain  to  guess.     None  more  absurd 
Than  EMPEROR  NAPOLEON  III,* 
Is  hardly  possible  ;  but  then, 
A  riddle  and  a  mystery  are  men. 

Thence  turned  they  towards  fair  ALBION'S  coast, 
Queen  of  the  Ocean,  and  her  boast ! 
Britannia  seemed  in  sables  draped, 
From  head  to  foot  completely  craped  : 
For  the  great  DUKE  OF  WELLINGTON,! 
Who  many  a  victory  had  won 
On  many  a  hard-fought  battle  field, 

*This  title  was  given  to  Louis  Napoleon  by  a  plebiscitum,  Dec.,  1852,  one  year 
after  the  coup  d'Jtat. 
tDicd  September  14,  1852. 

1 1 


162  NEW    YEAR. 

Was  forced  at  last  to  Death  to  yield. 
For  that  her  Great  Men  also  fail, 
Well  may  Columbia  join  the  wail. 
O,  sad  and  sorrowful  the  day, 
When  lost  to  her  was  HENRY  CLAY  !  * 
When  silence  sealed  for  aye  the  tongue, 
On  which  enraptured  millions  hung! 
Nor  less  to  be  deplored  the  time, 
When  WEBSTER,  lofty  and  sublime,f 
Whose  Atlantean  shoulders  bore 
The  weight  of  mighty  cares  of  yore, 
Fell,  crashing,  headlong,  and  was  found 
A  mighty  ruin  on  the  ground  ! 
As  falls  the  monarch  of  the  wood, 
Or  massy  tower  that  long  has  stood  ! 
Columbia  felt  her  own  unnerved, 
When  his  right  arm  no  longer  served. 

Here,  too,  were  cargoes  all  of  gold, 
So  vast,  'twas  wondrous  to  behold, 
All  from  AUSTRALIA,  just. dug, 
'Twill  soon  become,  'tis  feared,  a  drug  ; 
Unless  they  fix  thereon  a  stopper, 
A  guinea  won't  be  worth  a  copper. 

*  Henry  Clay  died  June  29,  1852. 

t  Daniel  Webster  died  October  24,  1852. 


NEW    YEAR.  163 

Here  KOSSUTH,  living  privately, 
Hoping  'gainst  hope,  for  Hungary, 
Had  ceased  to  be  cause  of  dissension, 
By  urging  schemes  of  intervention. 
"  Far  less  by  violence  and  might, 
Than  by  the  power  of  Truth  and  Right ; 
By  force  of  the  devouring  sword, 
Than  by  the  Spirit  of   the  Lord, 
Making  thee  virtuous  as  free, 
My  much  loved  Land  beyond  the  sea ! 
Canst  thou  assist  to  break  the  chain, 
On  struggling  Nations  fixed  again. 
Example  hath  a  quiet  might, 
Against  which  tyrants  vainly  fight, 
Unseen,  but  present  everywhere, 
As  is  the  universal  air." 
Your  tourist  thus  apostrophized, 
And  then  prepared  to  scale  the  skies. 

Obliging  Pegasus,  by  dint 
Of  a  slight  patting,  took  the  hint ; 
So,  up  they  soared,  and,  straightway,  smack 
They  both  were  in  the  Zodiac. 

Though  bold,  he  scarcely  thought  'twould  answer, 
To  draw  too  near  your  Mister  Cancer  ; 


,164  NEW    YEAR. 

Felt  shy  of  Mister  Scorpio  ; 

In  royal  Leo  feared  a  foe  ; 

Miss  Virgo  doubtless  had  her  charms 

But  did  not  draw  him  to  her  arms  : 

Those  monsters  seen  in  Almanac, 

Were  there  all  scattered  'long  their  track  ; 

But,  shying  out  and  hurrying  on, 

One  minute  more  they  reached  the  Sun. 

Right  opposite  was,  as  of  old, 

The  gnomon,  awful  to  behold, 

Pointing  to  twelve  upon  the  dial  : 

When,  suddenly,  not  harp,  nor  viol, 

Organ,  nor  other  instrument, 

E'er  to  such  harmony  gave  vent, 

What  time  the  Years  began  to  chime 

Upon  the  mystic  Clock  of  Time. 

From  all  the  Spheres  sweet  music  rang, 

The  Morning  Stars  together  sang, 

The  Sons  of  God,  Heaven's  doors  ajar, 

Shouting  for  joy,  were  heard  from  far. 

Down  dropping  where  the  planets  dance. 
The  animal  began  to  prance  ; 
Both  feet  and  wings  beat  rhythmical 
At  nice  and  measured  interval. 


NEW    YEAR.  165 

Thence  passing,  that  old  lunatic, 

The  Man  in  th'  Moon,  they  found  quite  sick.      * 

Being  a  man,  the  ladies,  chiefly, 

Might  like  it,  should  the  poet  briefly 

Show  of  his  character  each  phase  ; 

His  habits,  humors,  whims  and  ways  ; 

Whether  he's  marriageable  or  married, 

Whether  his  courtships  have  miscarried — 

Which  seems  not  likely,  since  'tis  known- 

The  sex  here  all  his  influence  own, 

Making  them  love-sick,  full  of  sighs 

And  sentimental  ecstasies. 

Women  are  born  inquisitive, 

And  it  becomes  men  to  forgive, 

And  gratify,  whene'er  they  can, 

This  thirst  to  know  concerning  man  ; 

Therefore,  it  is  with  pride  and  pleasure 

The  poet  does  it  in  his  measure. 

The  Gentleman  aforesaid  then 
Has  known  the  bliss  of  married  men  ; 
Long  since,  before  the  time  of  Adam, 
Was  joined  in  wedlock  unto  Madam 
Luna,  of  chastity  a  pattern, 
A  tidy  housewife  and  no  slattern. 


166  NEW    YEAR. 

She  loves  her  spouse,  no  doubt,  sincerely, 

And  he,  no  doubt,  loves  her  as  dearly  ; 

Indeed,  it  is  a  fact  notorious, 

He  is  excessively  uxorious  ; 

Was  never  known  to  be  morose, 

When  she  was  sick  or  lachrymose  ; 

Whate'er  the  whim  that  chanced  to  seize  her, 

His  only  object  was  to  please  her  ; 

He  turned  himself  all  ways  to  suit, 

From  principle  shunned  all  dispute  ; 

So,  had  she  known  what  'twas  she  wanted, 

For  that  thing,  would  have  toiled  and  panted 

Her  gallant  husband  and  adorer, 

Until  he  had  secured  it  for  her. 

Sometimes,  preposterously,  of  nights, 

She'd  loudly  talk  of  Woman's  Rights, 

Saying,  "My  sphere's  a  hemisphere." 
"  Granted,  I  know  it  is,  my  dear  ! 

But  hemisphere  is  only  half, 

Is  half  enough  ?"  said  he,  and  laughed. 
"  If  not  content  with  that,  you  shall 

Have  more — three-fourths,  seven-eighths,  or  all.' 

Always  polite  and  keeping  cool, 

He  yields  to  her  the  right  to  rule. 


NEW    YEAR.  167 

It  now  may  not  appear  so  strange, 

Why  Moon's  another  name  for  change  ; 

For  she,  fantastical  and  fickle, 

Turns  it  sometimes  into  a  sickle  ; 

Now  makes  it  horned,  then  makes  it  gibbous, 

While  playing  peep-a-boo  with  Phoebus  ; 

And  when  at  full,  all  bright  and  pale, 

She  seems  the  ocean,  man  the  whale. 

Some  daughters  of  that  planet  yonder 
Have  grown,  no  doubt,  and  'tis  no  wonder, 
By  marking  Luna,  somewhat  lunar, 
And  so  intend  soon,  if  not  sooner, 
T'  assert  their  rights,  and  make  them  equal, 
One  and  the  same,  that,  in  the  sequel, 
Having  and  being  all  in  common, 
One  may  not  tell  a  man  from  woman. 
The  old  belief,  'tis  their  conviction, 
Of  male  and  female,  is  a  fiction  ; 
Therefore,  the  jealous  little  witches, 
Grudge  his  monopoly  of  breeches. 
Their  envy,  eating  like  a  canker, 
'Tis  most  for  what  is  his  they  hanker  ; 
Being  his,  is  why  they  think  they're  needed  : 
No  matter,  that  it  is  conceded, 


r6'8  NEW    YEAR. 

Of  the  two  halves  she  is  the  better, 

And  that  he's  evermore  her  debtor  ; 

Nor,  what  in  others  is  held  penal, 

In  them  is  treated  as  quite  venial  ; 

That  she  may  shoot  the  barbed  arrow, 

That  pierces  deep  and  drinks  the  marrow  ; 

May  break  the  peace,  and  stab  with  daggers, 

And  smite  the  brain  till  reason  staggers — 

By  witcheries  of  looks  and  eyes 

Do  these  and  such  like  felonies — 

And  yet  be  never  once  indicted, 

Nor  'fore  a  Magistrate  be  cited. 

And  yet  forsooth  they're  not  contented, 

It  truly  must  be  they're  demented. 

While  thus  he  mused  and  moralized, 

A  gleam  of  Day-break,  him  surprised. 

And  now  brought  back  to  Earth  again, 

Dismounting,  he  let  go  the  rein. 

Away  at  once  the  Winged  One  flew, 

Scarce  giving  time  to  bid  adieu. 

All  safe  and  sound  from  his  Journey  audacious, 
Behold  !  to  his  Patrons,  right  royal  and  gracious, 
This  glad  New  Year  morn  comes  the  leal-hearted 

Poet— 


NEW     YEAR.  169 

For  that  he's  loyal,  he  thinks  they  should  know  it — 
A  little  embarrassed,  with  heart  in  a  flutter, 
To  wish  them  much  joy,  and  his  Vivats,  to  utter  : 
May  you  all  live  long,  and  then  at  death's  portal 
Pass  at  once  into  life  and  glory  immortal  ! 
'Tis  the  part  of  a  Christian  never  to  waver, 
But  pocket  an  insult  as  well  as  a  favor. 
The  Laureate  knowing,  without  wishing  to  flatter, 
His  liege  lords  would  offer  naught  but  the  latter, 
For  anything  else  goes  quite  unprovided, 
Though,  of  course,  the    amount  he  would  leave  un 
decided  : 
In  the  blest  school  of  meekness,  though  not  an  apt 

scholar, 

He's  at  home  in  the  fractional  parts  of  a  dollar. 
'Tis  more  blessed  to  give,  and  that  bliss  superior, 
He's  willing  to  yield,  and  accept  the  inferior; 
And  while  he  abhors  all  things  that  are  hateful, 
He  abhors  the  mean  soul  that  cannot  be  grateful. 


170  NEW    YEAR. 


ALL    HAIL! 

joyful  Muse  keeps  vigils  all  the  night, 
Waiting  the  advent  of  the  New-born  Year, 
And  on  the  radiant  forehead  of  the  time 
Imprints  her  kiss  of  welcome.     Hail !  All  hail  ! 
Offspring  and  heir  of  old  Eternity, 
Assume  thy  sceptre  and  begin  to  reign  ! 
O  thou  august  Successor  of  the  Years  ! 
Th'  uncomputed  periods  of  the  Past, 
With  all  their  power  and  glory,  are  thine  own — 
Thy  patrimony,  thine  inheritance,  thy  right. 
On  thee  devolve  the  sum  and  adding  up 
Of  the  unbounded  and  unwasted  wealth 
Of  all  preceding  Ages.     All  is  thine, 
O  last  and  richest  of  the  sovereign  Years  ! 
All  pre-existence  culminates  in  thee, 
O  regnant  Present  !     O  supremest  Now  ! 
The  tribute  of  unnumbered  centuries 
Fills  thy  exchequer,  and  augments  thy  state. 
Appropriate  thy  birth-right !     Crowned  with  stars, 


NEW    YEAR  171 

In  jeweled  pomp  such  as  befits  thee,  sit 

And  execute  the  high  behests  of  God, 

For  this  is  thy  prerogative  and  place, 

Advancing  to  complete  accomplishment 

That  which  concerns  the  universal  weal 

And  His  eternal  glory.     Hasten  thou 

Omnipotent  fulfillments  !     Bring  to  pass 

Predestinated  triumphs  !     Gather  spoil, 

And  drag  Abaddon  at  thy  chariot  wheels, 

In  sight  of  shouting  millions  !     Raise  up  Truth 

Where  she  has  fallen,  and  establish  Right  ! 

Upturn  from  their  foundations  each  stronghold 

And  forted  residence  of  hoary  Wrong  ! 

Cast  down  old  Tyrannies  !   break  every  yoke  ! 

And,  with  iconoclastic  fury,  smite 

The  immemorial  idolatries 

And  horrid  superstitions  of  dark  lands, 

Which  for  a  Jesus  have  some  Juggernaut ! 

Mosque  and  Pagoda,  level  to  the  ground  ! 

Or  else,  when  purged  of  their  abominations,  make 

Them  Temples  to  Jehovah's  praise, 

Thronged  with  converted  worshippers, 

Rejoicing  in  the  liberty  of  Christ  ! 

Alas  !  how  long,  sweet  Pity  asks,  how  long 


I72  NEW    YEAR. 

Shall  the  dear  promise  of  that  time  delay  ? 

Lo  !  Jumna  and  the  Ganges  now  run  blood,  * 

All  through  their  course,  a  thousand  miles,  perhaps 

To  where  they  empty,  by  a  hundred  mouths, 

Into  the  shuddering  bosom  of  the  sea, 

As  made  incarnadine  with  human  gore, 

Poured  from  the  veins  of  murdered  innocence 

At  Meerut,  Delhi,  most  of  all,  Cawnpore, 

Where  Nena  Sahib, — whilom  friend,  sleek,  soft, 

Accomplished  in  the  learning  of  the  West — 

Unmasked,  and  called  up  hell,  with  him  to  hold 

High  holiday  on  earth,  and  celebrate 

Infernal  orgies — aiders  in  his  work 

Of  treachery  and  cruelty  and  lust. 

Not  Niobe's  deep  woe  immortalized  in  stone  ; 

*  The  year  1857  was  a  memorable  one.  The  great  Sepoy  Revolt  in  India  fixed  the 
attention  of  the  whole  civilized  world.  On  May  14,  a  formidable  rising  took  place  at 
Meerut.  The  Europeans  were  massacred  ;  and  the  mutineers  marched  to  Delhi, 
where  a  second  butchery  took  place.  The  restoration  of  the  Mogul  dynasty  was 
proclaimed.  There  were  simultaneous  risings  in  the  northwest  provinces.  Benares 
on  the  Ganges  was  in  revolt  on  June  4,  and  on  the  next  day  at  the  military 
station  at  Cawnpore,  several  thousand  Sepoys  revolted  and  placed  themselves 
under  the  command  of  Nena  Sahib,  rajah  of  Bittoor.  The  town  contained  at  the 
time  900  Europeans,  of  whom  two-thirds  were  women,  children,  and  other  non- 
combatants.  After  a  siege  which  lasted  till  June  27,  they  surrendered  on  promise 
of  a  safe  passage  to  Allahabad.  Instead  of  this,  the  men  were  treacherously 
massacred  ;  and  the  women  and  children  kept  alive  until  July  15,  when  the  Nena, 
hearing  of  General  Havelock's  rapid  advance  toward  Cawnpore,  caused  the  whole 
number,  after  horrible  outrages,  to  be  put  to  death,  and  had  their  bodies  thrown 
into  a  well.  One  of  the  results  of  the  mutiny  (not  finally  quelled  until  1859)  was 
the  transfer  of  the  government  of  India  from  the  East  India  Company  to  the  direct 
authority  of  the  Imperial  Crown  by  Act  of  Parliament,  passed  August  2,  1858. 


NEW    YEAR.  173 

Not  Rachel's  inconsolable  distress 
For  slaughtered  babes  in  Jewry,  fully  matched 
The  anguish  of  those  mothers,  who  theirs  saw, 
Mangled  ere  murdered,  tortured,  piecemeal  torn. 
The  tale  is  left  half  told,  for  who  would  wish, 
Lifting  the  veil  upon  those  scenes  of  shame, 
Again  to  shock  the  chaste  and  modest  light 
That  witnessed  once  their  horrors  ? 

Visit  not, 

Not  now,  most  just  but  gracious  Lord  !  not  now, 
The  iniquities  of  the  fathers  on  the  sons, 
Nor  yet  mete  retribution  to  their  own  misdeeds  ! 
O  banish  not  the  stranger  !     Let  oppression  cease, 
But  still,  let  Christian  England  keep  the  gates 
Of  golden  Ind,  that  so  may  enter  in, 
The  shod  and  girded  Heralds  of  the  Cross, 
Whose  feet,  when  seen  afar  upon  the  hills, 
Hastening  on  errands  of  good  will  and  peace, 
Are  beautiful  as  sunrise.     Let  this  be 
Th'  acceptable  and  favored  Year  of  Grace  ! 
Now  gird  the  sword  upon  Thy  thigh  !     Ride  forth, 
Serene  and  conquering  Prince  !     Let  Truth  be  sharp 
In  hearts  of  Pagan,  Mussulman,  and  Jew, 
Slaying  inveterate  enmities,  that  so, 


174  NEW    YEAR. 

Thy  Kingdom  may  come  gloriously  in  all  the  Earth  ! 

Be  ruled,  ye  representatives  of  Christian  Lands, 

By  the  mild  maxims  of  the  Faith  ye  teach  ! 

If  blood  cries  from  the  ground,  and  must  have  blood, 

Temper  the  fierceness  of  a  just  revenge 

Toward  the  deluded  multitude.     Look  home, 

And  weigh  it  well,  what,  if  ye  too  were  judged  ! 

Statesmen  of  England  !    put  away  for  shame 
Your  timorous  time-serving.     O,  for  once, 
Endanger  something  for  the  cause  of  Christ 
As  well  as  for  dominion  !     Subject  for  just  scorn, 
Peer  of  the  realm  or  not,  is  he,  who  dared 
So  far  dishonor  his  high  station,  as, 
Misjudging  causes  and  misplacing  blame, 
Vilely  to  slander  Christian  zeal  and  love, 
As  root  of  all  the  mischief — saying  naught 
Of  new  exasperations  of  old  griefs, 
Deep,  rankling  wounds  for  centuries  unhealed, 
Inflicted  by  injustice  and  misrule. 

O,  there  are  men  with  hemiplegic  souls — 
One  half  their  manhood  paralyzed  and  dead. 
And  that  the  better  half,  their  moral  self — 
Fleshly,  corrupt,  and  devilish  in  their  aims, 


NEW    YEAR.  175 

Who  worship  naught  but  Mammon  and  themselves, 

But  not  unwilling  to  pay  outward  court 

To  Boodh,  or  Brahma,  or  to  any  god, 

For  what  they  deem  sufficient  recompense. 

Abhor  the  cringing  baseness  of  such  men, 

Who  counsel  cowardly  compliances, 

And  Judas-like  betrayals  of  their  Lord, 

Honors  to  Vishnu  at  th'  expense  of  Christ ! 

Dwellers  among  the  heathen,  holding  rule  ! 

Be  frankly  Christian,  both  in  fact  and  name, 

Magnanimously  intent  to  make  them  so, 

By  the  sure  methods  of  unselfish  love, 

And  tenderness  of  Calvary's  appeal ! 

Thus  exorcise  the  demon  that  you  dread. 

O,  for  a  Statesman,  worthy  of  the  name, 
In  other  lands,  or  this,  Premier  or  President, 
Or  Minister  or  Maker  of  the  laws — 
I'd  walk  a  thousand  miles  to  kiss  his  hand — 
Who  in  the  faith  of  an  Eternal  God, 
And  an  unalterable,  just  Law,  that  rules  the  world, 
Steers  by  the  pole-star  of  unmoving  Truth, 
And  not  the  flitting  meteor  of  the  hour  : 
Who  with  unbending  rectitude  of  will, 


i?6  NE  W    YEAR. 

Follows  unquestioning  where  Duty  leads  : 

Who  with  a  circumspect  and  careful  step 

Pursues  inevitably  the  Path  of  Right, 

Like  one  who  treads  the  perilous  and  craggy  edge 

Of  some  high  precipice  beetling  o'er  the  sea, 

And  shudders,  lest  his  deviating  foot 

Should  unsupported  press  the  vacant  air, 

And  the  abyss  receive  him  :  who,  Achilles-like, 

Detests  a  Lie  e'en  as  the  gates  of  hell, 

All  tortuous  policies  and  tricks  of  State, 

And  ne'er  is  tempted  to  forsake  the  Right, 

To  stumble  in  the  dark  of  chance  expediencies  : 

Who  doubts  not,  if  one  sows  him  dragon's  teeth, 

He'll  have  a  brood  of  dragons,  or  armed  men, 

Strifes,  conflicts,  wars  in  Kansas,  or  elsewhere. 

Chief  Magistrate  of  these  United  States  !  * 

*  James  Buchanan  was  inaugurated  President  March  4,  1857.  The  repeal  of  the 
Missouri  Compromise  Act  of  1820,  which  prohibited  slavery  north  of  latitude  36°, 
30'  N.,  had  made  Kansas  the  scene  of  bitter  strife  ever  since  1854,  when,  with 
Nebraska,  it  was  organized  as  a  territory.  A  large  majority  of  the  settlers,  con 
sisting  of  emigrants  from  the  Free  States,  were  anti-slavery ;  but  armed  bands 
from  Missouri  had,  year  after  year,  taken  possession  of  the  polls,  and  prevented 
the  election  of  any  but  pro-slavery  candidates,  either  to  the  Territorial  Legislature, 
or  to  Congress.  A  Convention  assembled  at  Topeka,  October  23, 1855,  promulgated 
a  Constitution  for  the  State  of  Kansas  in  which  slavery  was  prohibited.  On  Jan 
uary  15,  1856,  an  election  was  held  under  this  for  State  officers  and  a  Legislature. 
This  met  July  4,  and  was  forcibly  dispersed  by  U.  S.  troops  under  Col.  Sumner. 
It  met  again  Jan.  6,  1857,  and  organized  next  day.  The  U.  S.  Marshal  made 
several  arrests,  which  leaving  both  houses  without  a  quorum,  they  adjourned  till 


NEW    YEAR.  177 

Thou  art  a  man  of  peace,  and  wishest  peace, 

But  peace  comes  not  by  merely  wishing  it. 

Canst  thou  by  wishing  make  sour,  sweet  ?     False,  true? 

Or  make  in  any  wise  that  fact,  which  is  not  fact  ? 

O,  mock  us  not,  proclaiming  falsely  peace, 

When  that  there  is  no  peace,  but  war  instead  ! 

Canst  thou  draw  out  Leviathan  with  a  hook  ? 

Or,  being  thirsty,  drink  the  Ocean  dry  ? 

Though  ten  times  President,  thou  canst  not  do  it. 

What  canst  thou  do  ?    Thou  canst  do  right.     Do  that, 

And  thou  may'st  safely  leave  the  rest  to  Heaven. 

Deal  with  polygamous  Utah  with  firm  hand  ! 
And  that  most  precious  rascal,  Brigham  Young, 
Chief  scoundrel  of  that  seat  of  scoundreldom, 
Whose  vulgar  and  disgusting  nudities 
Have  outraged  decency  by  far  too  long  ! 
Think  of  the  atrocity  of  many  wives 
Thou  who  hast  none  !     Mete  out  to  his  debaucheries 


June.  In  the  mean  time,  several  bloody  conflicts  had  taken  place  between  the  Free 
State  and  pro-slavery  parties, — the  latter  strengthened  as  usual  by  armed  forces 
from  Missouri.  Such  was  the  situation  of  affairs  upon  Buchanan's  accession  to 
office.  In  his  Inaugural  Address,  he  stated  the  mode  in  which  the  difficulties  in 
Kansas  were  to  be  settled.  It  unfortunately  consisted,  not  in  a  courageous  up 
holding  of  the  right,  but  in  a  series  of  weak  compliances  with  all  the  unjust  de 
mands  of  the  pro-slavery  party,  including  the  recognition  and  approval  of  the  Le- 
compton  Constitution,  framed  in  the  interests  of  slavery,  with  what  results  we  all 
know.  A  rebellion  in  Utah  came  to  a  head  this  year. 


178  NEW    YEAR. 

And  scandals  foul,  according  to  the  sense 
Of  thy  indignant  and  chaste  bachelorship, 
And  so  wipe  out  this  blot  of  Christendom  ! 
Sage  and  sagacious  Servant  of  the  State  ! 
Doubtless  thou  hast  thy  crotchets,  who  has  not  ? 
What  bachelor,  or  father  without  boys, 
But  has  some  favorite  theory  of  home-rule  ? 
And  so,  what  bankrupt  in  his  own  affairs, 
But  is  profound  in  mysteries  of  Finance, 
And  on  the  Currency   is  quite  at  home, 
Knowing  the  whys  and  wherefores  of  all  things  ? 
Spare  us  just  now  the  trial  of  new  schemes. 
That  which  you  broach  seems  radical  enough  ; 
Is  revolution  rather  than  reform  ; 
A  total  pulling  down  to  build  anew. 
Your  hobby-horse,  great  Sir,  rides  somewhat  hard. 
The  architecture  of  our  humble  homes, 
If  not  our  beau-ideal  of  a  house, 
We  still  prefer  to  living  out  of  doors, 
At  this  inclement  season  of  the  year. 
The  times  are  hard,  but  yet  they  might  be.  worse  : 
For  fear  of  drowning  shall  we  hang  ourselves? 
The  man  who  tried  to  live  on  nothing,  died — 
Which  proves  experiments  are  not  all  safe. 


NEW    YEAR.  179 

"Sweet  are  the  uses  of  Adversity." 
The  lesson  is  an  old  one,  old  as  man. 
No  year  but  in  its  circuit  brings  some  grief 
To  every  heart  and  household.     In  the  last, 
God  frowned — and,  straightway,  out  of  heaven    fell 

blight, 

Withering  the  hopes  of  men.     Lo  !  first,  the  Deep, 
Opening  its  ample  jaws,  a  noble  Ship* 
Swallowed,  conveying  homeward  precious  freight, 
Men  and  vast  treasures  from  the  land  of  gold. 
O  gallant  Herndon,  generous  to  the  end  ! 
Women  and  children,  saved  by  thee  from  death, 
(Heroic  hundreds  perishing  around) 
Well  may  they  weep  thee,  and  we'll  weep  thee  too. 
Next,  snapt  that  mystic  cable,f  ah  !    how  sad, 
Which  grappling  distant  shores,  is  destined  yet 
To  bring  them  close,  renewing  ancient  bonds 
Of  blood  and  brotherhood.     When  that  shall  be, 
The  last  remains  of  national  dislike, 


*  The  Steamer  Central  America,  William  Lewis  Herndon,  Commander,  on  its 
way  from  Aspinwall  to  New  York,  having  on  board  474  passengers  and  a  crew  of 
105,  and  about  $2,000,000,  during  a  violent  gale,  sprung  a  leak  on  the  evening  of 
September  12,  1857.  Only  150  persons  on  board  were  saved,  including  the  women 
and  children.  The  gallant  Commander,  more  careful  of  the  lives  of  others  than 
his  own,  was  seen  standing  upon  the  wheel-house  at  the  time  of  her  sinking. 

t  Referring  to  the  unsuccessful  attempt,  made  in  August,  1857,  to  lay  the 
Atlantic  Cable,  which  broke  when  300  miles  had  been  paid  out. 


180  NEW    YEAR. 

At  the  first  flash,  God  please,  shall  perish,  smit 

By  silent  thunder.     Compass  it,  O  Year  ! 

Then,  were  commercial  earthquakes,  shaking  down 

Fabrics  of  merchant  princes,  heaps  on  heaps, 

A  roaring  ruin  heard  beyond  the  sea, 

Begetting  sudden  sympathetic  shocks, 

Whence  came  reverberating  crash  and  answering  roar. 

By  what  uncertain  tenure  do  men  hold 

Riches,  and  all  the  good  things  of  this  life  ! 

Wrecked  fortunes  and   wrecked   hopes  strew  all  the 

ground. 

Faint  hearts,  look  upward  !  see,  where  breaks  the  cloud, 
How  calm,  how  beautiful,  how  safe  is  heaven  ! 

Indulge  the  poet  in  a  private  grief. 
Ah  me  !    ah  me  !    that  fond  and  faithful  heart — 
In  whose  maternal  furrows  first  took  root 
My  being,  growing  up  to  conscious  life  ; 
Whose  animating  impulse  first  awoke 
This  throbbing  mystery  within  my  breast — 
Is  cold,  is  cold,  it  beats  no  more  for  me, 
But  moulders  in  the  churchyard  since  three  months. 
The  brow  of  beauty,  in  its  dewy  prime, 
Was  ne'er  to  me  so  ravishing  as  hers, 
Albeit  age  and  care  had  wrinkled  it, 


NEW    YEAR.  l8l 

For  Love  had  stamped  his  angel  impress  there. 
Assist  me,  gracious  Heaven,  for  I  would  be 
Better  and  holier  for  her  dear  sake. 
For  'tis  a  grateful  thought  I  have  sometimes, 
That  she  lives  through  me,  and  the  fruit  I  bear 
Is  to  the  honor  of  the  parent  tree. 

Withhold  not  thanks,  O  living  men  !   to-day, 
For  all  God's  mercies.     Now  the  birds  are  dumb, 
There's  none  to  praise,  if  man  be  silent.     Sing, 
Lift  up  your  voices,  make  the  valleys  ring, 
And  wake  the  slumbering  echoes  of  the  hills, 
For  praise  is  comely  !     Dedicate  the  hours 
To  pious  offices  and  friendly  words 
Of  mutual  gratulation  !     Life  is  brief. 
Time  rolls  a  golden  stream  to  men  awake, 
But  wot  to  them  who  sleep  !     Th'  occasion  seize  ! 
The  present,  while  we  speak,  becomes  the  past — 
Swift  as  the  lightning,  gone,  ere  we  can  say, 
It  lightens  !     Stamp  the  momentary  Now! 
Postpone  no  purpose  ;  dangerous  is  delay  ! 
Do  good  unto  your  friend  before  you  die  !* 
Slight  not  the  call  of  two  Eternities, 
That  summon  you  to  give  this  Year  to  God  ! 

NEW  YEAR,  1858. 

*  Ecclesiasticus  xiv  :  13. 


NATIONAL  LYRICS. 


FOURTH  OF  JULY— 1851. 

MOUNT  VERNON  VISITED. 

ARM  OF  THE  LORD,  AWAKE  ! 

OUR  COUNTRY'S  BANNER. 

OUR  CAUSE. 

HYMN  FOR  THE  NATIONAL  FAST. 

TWO  HUNDRED  YEARS  AGO. 

FOREFATHERS'  DAY. 

CENTENNIAL  ANTHEM. 

THE  LAND  OF  THE  FREE. 

MY  NATIVE  LAND. 


NATIONAL     LYRICS. 


FOURTH  OF  JULY,   1851. 

WHAT  time  our  patriot  fathers  spoke 
The  oath  on  Freedom's  altar  sworn, 
To  wear  no  more  the  tyrant's  yoke, 
This  mighty  Nation  then  was  born. 

The  thunder  of  that  lofty  vow, 

To  distant  ages  sounding  loud, 
Has  shaken  thrones,  is  shaking  now, 

And  shall  yet  shake,  till  all  are  bowed. 

The  Flag  of  Freedom,  then  unfurled, 
Was  hailed  by  millions  from  afar — 

The  Conquering  Standard  of  the  World, 
Sublime  alike  in  peace  and  war ! 

It  proudly  floats  on  every  sea, 
Is  honored  now  on  every  shore, 

It  whispers  to  th'  oppressed,  Be  free  ! 
And  kindles  hopes  unknown  before. 


1 86  A' A  TIONAL  L  YRICS. 

God  of  our  fathers  !  since  Thy  hands, 
In  benediction  stretched  above, 

Have  us  advanced  above  all  Lands, 
Knit  us  in  amity  and  love  ! 

Let  not  this  brotherhood  of  States, 
By  vital  bonds  made  firmly  one, 

Be  ever  rent  by  hostile  fates, 
Or  fratricidal  rage  undone  ! 

But  emulous  of  things  that  make 
The  high  example  more  complete, 

Teach  Nations  how  their  chains  to  break, 
And  soar  sublimely  to  Thy  feet ! 


MOUNT    VERNON   VISITED.* 

I  SING  to  him,  the  good,  the  brave, 
Whose  mighty  dust  in  glory  sleeps, 
Where  broad  Potomac  swells  and  sweeps, 
And  mourns  and  murmurs  past  his  grave. 

*The  visit  to  Mount  Vernon  followed  the  hearing  of  Charles  Sumner's  Speech 
in  the  Senate  Chamber  on  "The  Crime  against  Kansas,"  which  provoked  the 
assault  of  Preston  S.  Brooks  of  South  Carolina,  May  22,  1856. 


NA  TIONA L  L  YRICS.  187 

O  spot  most  hallowed  !     Shrine  most  blest ! 
Where  every  pebble,  wild  flower,  blade 
Of  common  grass,  is  sacred  made  : 

The  Mecca  of  the  Christian  West. 

Here  unforgetful  pilgrim  feet, 

From  all  the  earth,  shall  come  and  crowd  ; 

And  half  mankind  with  foreheads  bowed, 
Moist  tributes  pay  and  homage  meet. 

What  though  no  mausoleum  towers, 

In  marble  grandeur,  grace  of  art, 

His  monument's  the  human  heart, 
Immortal  as  this  soul  of  ours. 

It  is  the  ashes,  not  the  tomb 

Which  sanctifies  and  makes  august — 
This  cannot  save  ignoble  dust 

From  its  inevitable  doom. 

Memorial  of  sculptured  stone 
Is  needed  not ;  no  slab  so  rough 
As  not  to  serve  ;  it  is  enough,  > 

Bears  it  the  name  of  WASHINGTON. 


1 88  NA  TIONAL  L  YRICS. 

'/ 

Lo  !    solitude  is  social  found — 

The  stir  of  leaves  and  song  of  birds 
Are  more  than  eloquence  of  words — 

In  silence  there's  pathetic  sound. 

The  shade  of  him  who  erst  wast  seen, 
Treading,  may  be,  at  dusk  or  dawn, 
This  wooded  slope  and  upland  lawn, 

With  step  majestic,  look  serene, 

Methinks,  still  hovers.     On  his  brow 
Sits  awful  sadness.     Wherefore  this  ? 
It  is  no  common  cause,  I  wis — 

What  evil  threats  my  Country  now? 

His  countenance  is  pale,  as  when, 
Amid  the  strife  of  parting  breath, 
The  dolor  and  the  dew  of  death, 

His  spirit  passed — and  now,  as  then, 

A  mystic  horror  shakes  each  leaf 

Of  all  the  wood  ;    while  Freedom  speaks 
And  fills  the  air  with  sobs  and  shrieks, 

As  conscious  of  some  awful  grief. 


NA  TIONA  L  L  YRICS.  1 89 

O,  that  the  men  the  people  choose, 

Leaving  the  halls  of  fierce  debate, 

Would  hither  come  to  meditate, 
And  gather  wisdom  while  they  muse  ! 

Musing  beside  heroic  dust, 

Fondly  revolve  heroic  deeds, 

Until  it  emulation  breeds 
To  be  as  lofty  and  as  just ! 

MAY  28,  1856. 


ARM  OF  THE  LORD,  AWAKE!* 

ARM  of  the  Lord,  awake  ! 
With  dreadful  fury,  smite  ! 
Let  sudden  ruin  overtake 
The  enemies  of  Right ! 

*  It  might  seem,  at  first  sight,  that  the  imprecation  of  divine  vengeance  upon 
our  enemies  is  contrary  to  the  benign  spirit  of  the  Gospel ;  and,  undoubtedly,  it 
can  only  be  defended  in  cases  when  our  enemies  are  the  enemies  of  right,  and 
just  because  they  are  so.  It  then  becomes  a  judicial  function,  regulated  in  its  ex 
ercise  by  a  pure  desire  that  God  would  interpose  to  vindicate  truth  and  justice  by  a 
measured  and  righteous  punishment ;  but,  preferably,  by  opening  the  eyes  of  mis 
guided  men  to  the  criminal  folly  of  their  course,  and  disposing  them  to  turn  away 
from  it.  The  command  to  hate  our  nearest  kindred,  and  our  own  life  also,  is  only 
an  intense  form  of  assertion  of  the  supreme  preference  which  is  to  be  given  to 


1 90  NA  TIONAL  L  YRICS. 

Against  th'  insulting  foe, 

The  sword  of  vengeance  draw, 

And  make  rebellious  traitors  know 
The  majesty  of  Law  ! 

As  when  fierce  tempests  strike 

The  ocean,  and  it  heaves, 
So,  tossed  with  terror,  make  them  like 

A  wood  of  shaking  leaves  ! 

Let  heavenly  anger  flame  ! 

Let  boundless  scorn  be  hurled, 
To  make  them  hide  their  heads  for  shame 

Before  a  hissing  world  ! 

By  high  examples  taught, 

Help  us  to  act  as  well  ; 
Fight  bravely  as  our  fathers  fought, 

Fall  as  our  fathers  fell  ! 


right  over  everything  else.  In  this  way  it  is  easy  to  explain  Paul's  "  Anathema 
Maranatha,"  and  the  imprecatory  Psalms  of  David.  The  above  Hymn  was  written 
when  the  purpose  of  the  enemies  of  the  nation  to  destroy  it  could  no  longer  be 
doubted.  •  In  the  progress  of  the  struggle,  the  horror  felt  at  the  amount  of  blood 
shed  on  both  sides,  hardly  left  room  for  any  other  sentiment  than  the  profoundest 
grief. 


NATIONAL  LYRICS.  194 

Or  ere  more  blood  be  spilt, 
To  men,  by  frenzy  blind, 
Make  manifest  their  horrid  guilt, 

And  give  a  better  mind  ! 
APRIL  26,  1861. 


OUR  COUNTRY'S  BANNER. 

out,  fling  out,  with  cheer  and  shout, 
J-  To  all  the  winds  Our  Country's  Banner  ! 
Be  every  bar,  and  every  star, 

Displayed  in  full  and  glorious  manner  ! 
Blow,  Zephyrs,  blow,  keep  the  dear  ensign  flying  ! 
Blow,  Zephyrs,    sweetly  mournful,    sighing,    sighing, 
sighing  ! 

Lift  up,  lift  high,  far  toward  the  sky, 

The  symbol  of  a  Nation's  glory  ! 
Let  it  delight  the  people's  sight, 

From  every  window,  every  story  ! 
Airs,  rustling  soft,  here  from  all  quarters  hieing, 
What   ails   ye,    that   ye    cease    not,    sighing,   sighing, 
sighing? 


192  NA  TIONA  L  'L  YRICS. 

O'er  shop  and  home,  o'er  tower  and  dome, 
See,  how  it  waves  with  graceful  motion  ! 

From  castle  wall,  from  mast-head  tall, 
In  every  land,  on  every  ocean  ! 

What  means  it,  grieving  Gales,  your  soft  wings  plying, 

Ye   weep    so,    whispering    sorrow,    sighing,    sighing, 
sighing? 

How  fair  !  how  dread  !  as  seen  o'erhead, 

High  in  the  forefront  of  the  battle, 
Right  to  defend,  and  make  and  end, 

'Mid  fire  and  smoke,  and  roar,  and  rattle. 
Winds  !  gaily  flutter  it,  over  all  flying, 
Peace,  smiling,   bids  you   leave  off  sighing,   sighing, 
sighing  ! 

APRIL  26,  1861. 


OUR    CAUSE. 

THE  Nation,  that  on  right  is  built, 
Shall  stand  secure  and  flourish  long  ; 
Not  so  the  work  of  crime  and  guilt, 
The  rotten  fabric  of  the  wrong. 


NATIONAL    LYRICS.  193 

That  based  on  right  can  nothing  hurt : 

The  plottings  of  infernal  fraud 
Can  just  as  easily  subvert 

The  throne  and  government  of  God. 

What  though  against  the  Lord  of  Hosts, 

A  third  of  Heaven  did  once  rebel, 
And  blasted  tongues  now  make  their  boasts 

They  concord  broke  and  founded  Hell  ! 

What  though  there  are,  O  list !    O  list ! 

Who  lift  up  impious  hands  and  pray, 
With  malice,  snatching  at  God's  fist, 

To  smite  their  brethren  and  to  slay  ? 

Will  God  regard,  and  lend  His  hand 

To  fix  th'  oppressor's  cruel  chain, 
And  drive  out  Freedom  from  the  land  .-• 

O,  surely,  no  !    the  fear  is  vain. 

Advance  your  banners  !     Make  no  pause  ! 

Strike  boldly  !    See,  your  Country  bleeds  ! 
Ye  heroes  of  a  holy  cause, 

Set  music  unto  noble  deeds  ! 


194  NATIONAL    LYRICS. 

Ye  stand  upon  a  moral  height, 
The  centre  of  all  eyes  to-day  ; 

Be  worthy  of  your  sires  in  fight, 
And  fling  the  fear  of  death  away  ! 

For  should  ye  fail,  O  what  a  grief 
Would  fill  the  channel  of  the  years  ! 

That  Freedom's  term  was  here  so  brief, 
To  eyes  unborn  were  theme  for  tears. 

But,  no  !    that  were  too  deep  a  shame  : 
I  see  a  future  opening  vast, 

My  Country,  raised  to  higher  fame, 
The  arms  of  Heaven  around  her  cast. 

SEPTEMBER  27,  1861. 


NATIONAL    LYRICS.  195 


HYMN  FOR  THE  NATIONAL  FAST. 


L 


ONG  suffering  and  patient  God  ! 

Amid  the  war-cloud's  sulphurous  smoke, 
Discerning  Thine  avenging  rod, 
Thy  powerful  mercy  we  invoke  ! 


The  very  earth  with  tears  is  wet, 

The  skies  are  dropping  crimson  rain, 

And  reddened  floods  run  redder  yet, 
And  all  the  land  is  full  of  pain. 

O  Lord,  how  long?     Lo,  in  the  dust 
A  Nation  worships  Thee  to-day  ! 

Wilt  Thou  not  hold  Thy  hand,  or  must 
Offended  justice  still  have  way? 

There  is  no  peace  in  sin,  we  know, 
Our  vices  make  eternal  jar  ; 

Dry  up  the  sources  of  our  woe, 
And  end  the  causes  of  the  War  ! 


196  NATIONAL    LYRICS. 

Success  doth  crown  the  virtuous  brave, 
Who  fight  for  freedom  and  the  laws ; 

From  cowardice  and  baseness  save, 
And  make  us  worthy  of  our  Cause  ! 

We  would  not  in  the  market  sell 

Our  birthright  won  by  bloody  strife, 

And,  by  a  covenant  with  hell, 
Bargain  away  the  Nation's  life. 

Who  saves  his  life,  his  life  shall  lose  : 
By  base  desertion  of  the  right, 

We  cannot  cheat  eternal  dues, 
And  vilely  be  in  Thy  despite. 

O  God  !    to  shed  a  brother's  blood. 
And  leave  upon  the  hands  no  stain, 

Is  only  for  the  pure  and  good, 

And  not  the  impious  and  profane. 

Who  strikes  for  justice  should  be  just : 

Teach  us  to  strike,  but  not  in  hate  ; 
And  not  because  we  would,  but  must, 
Thereby  to  make  the  action  great ! 
APRIL  30,  1863. 


NA  TIONAL    LYRICS.  197 


THE    NATION    SAVED. 

THE  union  of  a  thousand  lyres 
Could  not  convey  so  sweet  a  sound, 
As  vibrates  now  along  the  wires, 

Spreading  melodious  tidings  round, 
Of  triumph  o'er  Rebellion  won, 

Of  Treason  tottering  to  its  fall, 
And  a  new  era  now  begun 

Of  just  and  equal  rights  to  all ; 
When  all,  that  once  did  vex  and  mar 

Our  Country's  harmony,  shall  cease — 
A  quadriennium  of  War, 

A  long  millennium  of  Peace — 
The  Federation  of  these  States 

Born  to  a  new  and  holier  birth, 
O'er  burnt  out  fires  and  buried  hates 

Standing  the  glory  of  the  earth. 
Confirm,  O  God,  these  hopes  of  ours, 

The  Nation  stablish  on  its  base  ! 
Make  it  a  pattern  to  the  Powers, 

Beginning  from  this  Year  of  Grace  ! 

PALM  SUNDAY,  APRIL  9,  1865. 


198  NATIONAL    LYRICS. 


TWO  HUNDRED  YEARS  AGO.* 

OUR  fathers'  God,  we  bless, 
We  magnify  and  sing 
Th'  abundant  faithfulness, 
And  mercy  of  our  King 
To  us,  and  them  whose  hands  did  sow 
These  fields,  Two  Hundred  Years  Ago. 

O,  fair  the  heritage 

They  from  the  red  man  gained, 
Passing  from  age  to  age, 
The  title  all  unstained  : 
Good  men  and  true  they  were,  we  know, 
Who  lived  Two  Hundred  Years  Ago. 

This  City — nobly  planned, 

Adorned  with  park  and  shade — 
Their  tasteful  eye  and  hand 

The  first  foundations  laid  : 
Men  fearing  God  they  were,  we  know, 
Who  built  Two  Hundred  Years  Ago. 

*  This  Ode,  prepared  for  the  occasion,  was  sung  to  the  tune  of  Lenox,  at  the  Bi 
Centennial  Celebration  of  the  Settlement  of  Newark,  N.  J.,  May  17,  1866. 


NATIONAL    LYRICS.  199 

Though  slumb'ring  in  the  ground, 

Their  spirit  walks  abroad, 
In  schools  and  workshops  found, 

And  temples  of  our  God  : 
What  they  did  plant,  God  made  to  grow, 
E'er  since  Two  Hundred  Years  Ago. 

O  River,  smiling  near  ! 

And  blue  Sky,  overhead  ! 
The  same  from  year  to  year, 

Ye  do  not  mourn  the  dead  : 
The  dead,  who  left  this  scene  of  woe 
For  Heaven,  Two  Hundred  Years  Ago. 

The  memory  of  the  Just 

Thrice  blessed  is,  and  sweet 
Is  their  neglected  dust, 

We  tread  beneath  our  feet  :  * 
Unfilial  feet  to  trample  so 
Dust  of  Two  Hundred  Years  Ago. 

Thrice  has  a  righteous  sword 

Been  drawn  in  Freedom's  Cause, 
Done  battle  for  the  Lord, 

*  The  censure  respects  the  desecration  of  the  Old  Burying  Ground. 


NA  TIONAL    LYRICS. 

For  equal  rights  and  laws  : 
Fraternal  blood  been  made  to  flow, 
Ah  !  since  Two  Hundred  Years  Ago. 

What  wonders  God  has  wrought ! 

Then  let  us  warble  forth 
His  love  beyond  our  thought, 

His  majesty  and  worth  : 
Exalt  His  power  and  grace  below, 
Like  those,  Two  Hundred  Years  Ago. 


FOREFATHERS'    DAY.* 

THAT  famous  Egg  of  Plymouth  Rock, 
Laid  by  a  fowl  of  noble  stock, 
Was  hatched,  about  that  time  o'clock, 

They  stepped  ashore — 
The  pastor  and  his  little  flock 
The  Mayflower  bore. 

*  Read  in  response  to  the  sentiment,  "  All  Honor  to  the  Egg  that  hatched  the 
American  Eagle,"  December  21,  1868,  before  the  New  England  Society  of  New 
ark,  N.  J.,  on  the  occasion  of  the  Anniversary  of  the  Landing  of  the  Pilgrim  Fathers 
on  Plymouth  Rock,  December  10,  1620,  O.  S. 


NA  TIONAL    LYRICS. 

A  sample  egg,  a  pattern  food, 
Un  (Euf,  that  as  a  feast  is  good, 
A  grand  <f£^-sample  set :   fain  would 

Men  imitate  ; 
Get  eagles'  eggs,  too,  if  they  could, 

And  incubate. 

For  never  yet  was  there  a  thing, 

So  swift,  so  sure,  so  bold  of  wing, 

As  that  proud  Bird  whose  praise  I  sing — 

Imperial  sweep 
Of  wide-spread  pinions,  hovering 

O'er  land  and  deep. 

"  Mewing  her  mighty  youth,"  and  wise, 
And  kindling  her  undazzled  eyes 
At  the  full  midday  beam,  she  flies 

From  her  high  nest, 
O'er  half  the  globe,  mid  changing  skies, 

From  East  to  West. 

The  lagging  wind  she  far  outstrips, 

Sailing  the  air  as  sail  the  ships, 

O'er  prairies  broad  and  mountain  tips, 


202  NATIONAL    LYRICS. 

Nor  stays  her  flight, 

Till  she  in  either  Ocean  dips 

Her  wing  of  might. 

Where  is  the  acorn,  there's  the  tree  : 
What  is,  gives  birth  to  what's  to  be  : 
The  germ  enfolds  maturity, 

Life  upward  leaps  : 
In  that  small  speck,  I  dimly  see, 

A  Nation  sleeps — 

A  bark,  lo  !    sailing  o'er  the  foam, 

In  which  our  grave  Forefathers  come, 

To  find  in  western  wilds  a  home — 

Good  seed  they  bear : 
They  sow  the  fat  and  virgin  loam 

In  faith  and  prayer. 

A  handful  of  the  heavenly  grain, 
Scattered  on  all  the  winds  with  pain, 
Is  nourished  by  the  dew  and  rain  : 

On  every  side 
It  springs,  and  then  is  sown  again 

And  multiplied. 


NATIONAL    LYRICS.  203 

O  fruitful  is  a  holy  thought  ! 

The  planted  truth  comes  not  to  naught 

But  with  all  blessedness  is  fraught, 

Makes  glad  the  sod  : 
Behold,  what  wonders  it  has  wrought, 

The  Truth  of  God  ! 

• 

The  wilderness  is  full  of  bloom, 
And  flowers  send  up  a  sweet  perfume, 
And  everywhere  is  seen,  in  room 

Of  rock  and  brier, 
Tilled  corn-fields,  rich  by  labor's  doom, 

And  curse  of  fire. 

Thicket  and  brake  no  more  conceal 
The  ancient  foes  of  human  weal, 
The  adder,  striking  at  the  heel 

With  poisoned  fang : 
Where  Industry's  unresting  wheel, 

There  war-whoop  rang. 

And  Freedom's  sun  shines  clear  and  bright, 
Through  clouds  that  erst  obscured  its  light ; 
While,  from  red  fields  of  stormy  fight, 


204  NATIONAL    LYRICS. 

Triumphant  comes, 

With  banners  streaming,  lo  !    the  Right 
With  beat  of  drums. 

Alas  !    from  Sin  what  sufferings  flow  ! 

We  reap  the  misery  we  sow  ; 

Make  Nature's  friendly  powers  our  foe  ; 

By  false  lights  steer  : 
The  fatal  cause  of  all  our  woe 

Is  here,  is  here. 

So  sunk  in  folly  is  the  race, 
So  sceptical,  profane  and  base, 
Man  flings  the  lie  in  nature's  face, 

Calls  evil,  good  : 
Loves  death  :    on  poison  feeds,  in  place 

Of  wholesome  food. 

FYom  the  world's  heart  profoundly  springs, 
How  vice  is  venomous  and  stings, 
And  none  escapes  the  pain  it  brings  : 

No  human  tact 
Can  change  the  eternal  truth  of  things, 

Make  falsehood,  fact. 


NATIONAL    LYRICS.  205 

Yet,  everywhere,  we  victims  meet, 

Of  so  preposterous  a  conceit, 

That  they  th'  Omniscient  God  can  cheat, 

And  trick  His  laws  : — 
Though  Hell  gapes  hungry  at  their  feet, 

They  will  not  pause. 

The  sons  of  license  deem  we  prate, 

Unfolding  horrors  that  await 

The  souls  of  them  who  Wisdom  hate, 

But,  past  a  doubt, 
The  grim,  inexorable  Fate 

Will  find  them  out. 

Death  is  the  price — read  Nature's  pages — 
And  she,  with  all  her  wealth,  engages 
To  pay  to  Sin  no  other  wages. 

The  Universe 
Pledges  it  naught  through  all  the  ages 

Except  its  curse. 

Great  are  Thy  judgments,  and  unsaid  ! 
Lord  !  at  the  nodding  of  Thy  head, 
The  pillared  sky  doth  shake  with  dread  ! 


206  NATIONAL    LYRICS. 

When  cried  th'  opprest 
Vainly  to  man,  Thou  cam'st  instead 
In  vengeance  drest. 

"  Right  aiming  thunderbolts  "  forth  went, 
Flying,  as  from  a  bow  well-bent, 
Out  of  the  clouds,  with  angry  rent 

Cleaving  the  dark, 
Flaming  across  a  Continent, 

Straight  to  the  mark — 

And  crashing  smote,  and  did  not  spare, 
Laying  the  earth's  foundations  bare, 
Toppling  the  shameless  Falsehood  there, 

And  Slavery  fell — 
A  fire,  consuming  everywhere, 

Burned  down  to  hell. 

And  Folly  blamed  the  Puritan, 
That  God  is  God,  and  man  is  man  ; 
That  thistles  grow  not  figs,  nor  can  : 

The  atheist 
Mumbled  in  vain  his  bitter  ban, 

And  shook  his  fist. 


NATIONAL    LYRICS.  207 

Condemned,  as  we  have  been,  to  hear 

The  echo  of  a  foolish  sneer, 

From  men  and  boys,  for  many  a  year, 

We  would  beseech, 
That  they  relieve  th'  afflicted  ear 

From  further  speech. 

Your  Sires  had  failings  not  a  few  ; 
"  New  England  Tragedies"  were  true  ; 
But  give  the  blessed  Sun  his  due, 

Though  he  have  spots  ! 
How  bright  his  beams  beneath  the  blue, 

Despite  his  blots  ! 

The  trafficker  in  moral  wares, 
Counts  rubbish,  and  so  cheaply  spares 
The  things  for  which  a  good  man  cares — 

'Tis  liberal,  wise  : 
Patches  the  rents  in  earth's  affairs 

By  compromise  : 

Profanely  storms  the  heavenly  towers  ; 
But  jealous,  strict,  supernal  Powers 
Forbid  we  give  what  is  not  ours  ; 


208  NATIONAL    LYRICS. 

The  Godhead  toss — 
As  one  on  beggars  pennies  showers — 
Not  feeling  loss. 

Slayer  of  dragons  in  his  day, 

St.  George  of  England  did  not  slay 

Old  Prejudice,  that  lives  alway  : 

Truth  oft  has  tried 
To  pierce,  in  many  a  fierce  affray, 

His  scaly  side. 

But  Love  can  do  what  Truth  cannot ; 
Heaped  on  the  head  her  coals  are  hot ; 
Forget  ye  what  can  be  forgot ! 

Weigh  not  each  feather  ! 
Willing  your  private  griefs  to  blot, 

Shake  hands  together  ! 

Ring,  Christmas  bells,  ring  merrily  ! 
Ring,  Christus  natus  hodie  ! 
The  Christ  that  is  and  is  to  be  ! 

Ring,  brotherhood  ! 
Ring,  peace  !    ring,  love  !    ring,  jubilee  ! 

Ring,  reign  of  good  ! 


NATIONAL    LYRICS.  209 


CENTENNIAL    ANTHEM. 


L 


ET  us  to  Jehovah  raise, 

Glad  and  grateful  songs  of  praise  ! 
For  His  mercy  standeth  fast, 
And  from  age  to  age  doth  last. 

Let  the  people  with  one  voice, 

In  the  Lord  their  God  rejoice  ! 
For  His  mercy  standeth  fast, 
And  from  age  to  age  doth  last. 

He,  across  untraversed  seas, 

Guided  first  the  Genoese  :* 
For  His  mercy  standeth  fast, 
And  from  age  to  age  doth  last. 

Here  prepared  a  dwelling-place. 

For  a  freedom-loving  race  : 
For  His  mercy  standeth  fast, 
And  from  age  to  age  doth  last. 

*  Columbus,  born  at  Genoa,  1437. 
14 


210  NATION AL   LYRICS. 

Filled  the  land  the  red  man  trod 
With  the  worshippers  of  God  : 
For  His  mercy  standeth  fast, 
And  from  age  to  age  doth  last. 

When  Oppression  forged  the  chain 
Nerved  their  hands  to  rend  in  twain 
For  His  mercy  standeth  fast, 
And  from  age  to  age  doth  last. 

Gave  them  courage  to  declare, 
What  to  do  and  what  to  dare  : 
For  His  mercy  standeth  fast, 
And  from  age  to  age  doth  last. 

Made  them  victors  over  wrong, 
In  the  battle  with  the  strong  : 
For  His  mercy  standeth  fast, 
And  from  age  to  age  doth  last. 

'Midst  the  terror  of  the  fight, 
Kept  them  steadfast  for  the  right : 
For  His  mercy  standeth  fast, 
And  from  age  to  age  doth  last. 


NATIONAL    LYRICS.  2ll 

Taught  their  Statesmen  how  to  plan 
To  conserve  the  Rights  of  Man  : 

For  His  mercy  standeth  fast, 

And  from  age  to  age  doth  last. 

Needful  skill  and  wisdom  lent 
To  establish  Government : 

For  His  mercy  standeth  fast, 

And  from  age  to  age  doth  last. 

Laid  foundations,  resting  still 
On  the  granite  of  His  will  : 

For  His  mercy  standeth  fast, 

And  from  age  to  age  doth  last. 

Wiped  the  scandal  and  the  sin 
From  the  color  of  the  skin  : 

For  His  mercy  standeth  fast, 

And  from  age  to  age  doth  last. 

Now  o'er  all  from  sea  to  sea, 
Floats  the  Banner  of  the  Free  : 

For  His  mercy  standeth  fast, 

And  from  age  to  age  doth  last. 


NATIONAL    LYRICS. 

Down  the  ages  rings  the  blow, 
Struck,  One  Hundred  Years  Ago  : 
For  His  mercy  standeth  fast, 
And  from  age  to  age  doth  last. 

Praise  the  Lord  for  freedom  won, 
And  the  Gospel  of  His  Son  : 
For  His  mercy  standeth  fast, 
And  from  age  to  age  doth  last. 

Praise  the  Lord,  His  name  adore 
All  ye  people,  evermore  ! 

For  His  mercy  standeth  fast, 
And  from  age  to  age  doth  last. 

JULY  4,  1876. 


NATIONAL    LYRICS.  213 


THE    LAND     OF    THE     FREE. 

We  hail  the  return  of  the  day  of  thy  birth, 

Fair  Columbia,  washed  by  the  waves  of  two  Oceans  ! 
Where  men,  from  the  farthest  dominions  of  Earth, 
Rear  altars  to  Freedom,  and  pay  their  devotions  : 
Where  our  fathers  in  fight, 
Nobly  strove  for  the  Right, 

Struck  down  their  fierce  foemen  or  put  them  to  flight, 
Through  the  long  lapse  of  ages,  that  so  there  might  be 
An  asylum  for  all  in  the  Land  of  the  Free. 

Behold,  from  each  zone  under  Heaven  they  come  ! 

And  haughtiest  nations,  that  once  far  outshone  thee, 
Now  paled  by  thy  lustre,  lie  prostrate  and  dumb, 
And  render  due  homage,  and  no  more  disown  thee. 
All  the  isles  for  thee  wait, 
While  that  early  and  late, 

Not  a  wind  ever  blows  but  wafts  hither  rich  freight, 
And  the  swift-sailing  ships  that  bring  over  the  sea 
Th'  oppressed  of  all  lands  to  the  Land  of  the  Free. 


214  NA  TIONAL    LYRICS. 

As  entranced  I  look  down  the  long  vista  of  years, 

And  behold  thine  existence  to  ages  extended, 
What  a  scene,  O  my  Country,  of  wonder  appears  ! 

How  kindling  the  prospect,  surpassing  and  splendid  ! 
Each  lone  mountain  and  glen, 
And  waste  wilderness  then, 

I  see  covered  with  cities,  and  swarming  with  men, 
And  miraculous  Art  working  marvels  for  thee 
To  lift  higher  thy  greatness,  thou  Land  of  the  Free  ! 

From  our  borders  expel  all  oppression  and  wrong, 

O  Thou,  who  didst  plant  us  and  make  us  a  Nation  ! 
In  the  strength  of  Thine  arm  make  us  evermore  strong; 
On  our  gates  inscribe  Praise,  on  our  walls  write  Sal 
vation  ! 

May  Thyself  be  our  light, 
From  Thy  heavenly  height, 

Ever  flashing  new  splendors,  and  chasing  our  night, 
That  united  and  happy  we  ever  may  be 
To  the  end  of  all  time,  still  the  Land  of  the  Free  ! 

JULY  4,  1853. 


NATIONAL    LYRICS.  215 


MY    NATIVE    LAND. 

O  BEAUTIFUL  and  grand, 
My  own,  my  Native  Land  ! 
Of  thee  I  boast  : 
Great  Empire  of  the  West, 
The  dearest  and  the  best, 
Made  up  of  all  the  rest, 
I  love  thee  most. 

Thou  crown  of  all  the  Past, 
Time's  noblest  and  the  last, 

Supremely  fair ! 
Brought  up  at  Freedom's  knee, 
Sweet  Child  of  Liberty  ! 
Of  all,  from  sea  to  sea, 

Th'  undoubted  Heir. 

I  honor  thee,  because 
Of  just  and  equal  laws, 
These  make  thee  dear  : 


216  NATIONAL    LYRICS, 

Not  for  thy  mines  of  gold, 
Not  for  thy  wealth  untold, 
Not  that  thy  sons  are  bold, 
Do  I  revere. 

God  of  our  fathers  !  bless, 
Exalt  in  righteousness, 

This  Land  of  ours  ! 
Be  Right  our  lofty  aim, 
Our  title  and  our  claim 
To  high  and  higher  fame, 

Among  the  Powers  ! 


POEMS    OF     PLACES 


NIAGARA. 

RETURN  AFTER  ABSENCE. 
A  SABBATH  AT  NIAGARA. 
WINDERMERE,  ENGLAND. 


POEMS    OF    PLACES. 


NIAGARA. 

WHILE  I,  thine  awful  charms  peruse, 
And  meditate  the  rustic  Muse — 
Wilt  thou,  Niagara,  refuse 

My  humble  lay, 

Piped  ere  the  time  the  morn  her  dews 
Hath  snatched  away  ? 

I  cannot  "build  the  lofty  rhyme" 
Of  solemn  cadence,  keeping  time 
With  thy  proud  step  and  march  sublime  : 

A  task  so  hard, 
Fits  one  of  other  age  and  clime, 

As  Scio's  bard. 

But  not  the  music  of  the  spheres, 
Alone  delights  th'  Almighty's  ears, 
For  He  well-pleased  the  meanest  hears, 

The  cricket  even, 
That  all  night  long  the  hearth-stone  cheers 

With  songs  to  Heaven. 


220  POEMS    OF    PLACES. 

Matchless  in  majesty  and  might, 
Type  of  the  Heavenly  Infinite  ! 
Unspeakable  !    that  dost  delight, 

And  yet  appall ; 
While  deep  to  deep,  and  depth  to  height 

Incessant  call ! 

Thou,  like  a  racer,  spurning  curb, 

-  That  snuffs  the  fatness  of  the  herb, 

Or  battle's  fierce  alarms  perturb — 

Adown  the  steep, 
With  curved  neck,  thunderous  and  superb, 

Dost  fearless  leap. 

Or  like  some  bird,  gay  plumes  adorning, 
Earth's  highest  summits  proudly  scorning, 
Seen  soaring  near  the  gates  of  morning, 

With  flashing  crest, 
Then  stooping  downward  without  warning 

His  rainbow  breast. 

What  mean  these  constant  earthquake  shocks  ? 
Thy  inland  sea  her  gates  unlocks, 
And  hither  drives  her  fleecy  flocks 


POEMS    OF   PLACES.  221 

Of  waves,  thence  hurled, 
Sheer  o'er  the  precipice  of  rocks 
And  shakes  the  world. 

A  deep  descent  I  reach  at  last, 
The  rocky  floor,  on  which  is  cast 
The  watery  column  rising  vast, 

Th'  inflected  River, 
Which  standing  there  through  all  the  Past, 

Shall  stand  forever. 

I  feel  how  awful  is  this  place, 
As,  darkling,  I  my  pathway  trace 
Behind  the  flood  at  thy  dread  base, 

Baptized  to  thee, 
As  was  to  Moses  Israel's  race, 

Beneath  the  sea. 

O  God  !  shut  in  by  rock  and  sea, 
What  fitter  place  to  bow  the  knee, 
So  cool  and  secret,  near  to  Thee  ! 

Hence,  ye  profane  ! 
In  Thy  pavilion,  here  with  me, 

Lord,  converse  deign  ! 


222  POEMS    OF   PLACES. 

As  drenched  with  the  resilient  spray, 
I  seek  once  more  the  open  day, 
I  pause  and  muse  how  all  decay  : 

Though  this  may  seem, 
Type  of  Eternity,  'twill  pass  away, 

A  murmurous  dream. 

1847. 


RETURN  AFTER  ABSENCE. 

I  TREAD  once  more  my  Native  Plain  ; 
I  live  my  childhood  o'er  again  ; 
I,  who  sometimes  have  mourned  with  tears, 
The  unreturning  flight  of  years, 
Feel  the  same  breezes  round  me  now, 
That  fanned  in  infancy  my  brow  ; 
And  seeing  naught  that  speaks  of  change, 
In  wood,  or  field,  or  mountain  range, 
Unconscious  of  the  lapse  of  days, 
The  past  comes  back,  and  with  me  stays  ; 
The  intervening  time  forgot, 
The  absent  here,  the  present  not. 


POEMS    OF   PLACES.  223 

How  sweetly  peaceful  and  how  still ! 
A  sabbath  seems  the  air  to  fill  ; 
No  sound  disturbs  the  sacred  calm, 
Save  whisper  of  a  plaintive  psalm 
Made  by  the  leaves,  as  softly  stirred 
By  the  west  wind  ;  or  song  of  bird  ; 
Or  chirp  of  insect  in  the  grass  ; 
Or  buzz  of  bees  as  on  they  pass 
To  sip  the  nectar  of  the  flowers, 
Fair  birth  of  vernal  suns  and  showers  : 
No  faculty  of  soul  or  sense, 
But  feels  the  blessed  influence. 

Familiar  scenes  around  me  start, 
Familiar  to  my  eyes  and  heart ; 
While  every  well-known  object  seems 
Tinged  with  the  atmosphere  of  dreams  ; 
By  Memory's  visionary  ray — 
More  potent  than  the  light  of  day, 
Subtler  than  that  of  moon  or  star, 
Which  merely  show  things  as  they  are — 
I  see  o'er  all,  a  glory  cast, 
A  halo  borrowed  from  the  past, 
Not  lifeless  forms  in  tree  and  stone, 
But  power  and  passion  not  their  own. 


224  POEMS    OF   PLACES. 

I  once  more,  as  in  former  time, 
The  neighboring  mountain's  summit  climb, 
And  feel,  as  erst,  the  matchless  charm 
Of  woodland  and  of  cultured  farm  ; 
Of  fields  of  corn  and  grassy  mead, 
Where  pasturing  herds  in  quiet  feed  ; 
Where  hand  of  toil  its  task  achieves 
To  rear  the  hay-cock,  bind  the  sheaves  ; 
And  ploughman  whistles  to  the  gale  ; 
And  milk-maid  blithe  sings  o'er  the  pail ; 
And  whip-poor-will,  and  house-dog's  bark, 
Make  glad  the  coming  on  of  dark. 

Where  smoke  of  village  upward  curls, 
There  lived  old  playmates,  boys  and  girls, 
And  men  who  long  have  passed  away, 
Whose  homes  remain,  but,  ah  !   not  they. 
Hard  by  yon  humble  church,  are  seen 
Their  rounded  graves  with  rank  grass  green. 
O  death  !   whose  desolating  tide 
Has  snatched  already  from  my  side 
A  father,  sister,  brother,  wife, 
Long  spare  me  her  who  gave  me  life, 
My  mother,  tenant  of  yon  roof, 
The  dearest,  best,  by  every  proof. 


POEMS    OF   PLACES.  225 

I  wander  by  the  shaded  stream, 
Where  I  was  wont  to  sit  and  dream 
Long  silent  hours,  from  morn  till  noon, 
Or  till  the  rising  of  the  moon, 
In  waking  visions  lost,  perchance, 
Of  poetry  and  sweet  romance  ; 
Or,  in  devoutest  ecstasy — 
All  conscious  of  the  Deity, 
Most  present  in  these  solitudes — 
Thrilled  with  the  murmur  of  the  woods, 
As  though  it  were  His  voice  I  heard, 
His  breath  that  all  the  tree-tops  stirred. 

If  I  have  traveled  o'er  the  sea, 
Been  awed  by  its  sublimity  ; 
Seen  monuments  and  cities  old  : 
And  mountains  soaring  in  the  cold  ; 
Dumb  with  adoring  wonder,  stood 
Beneath  Niagara's  thundering  flood, 
And  felt,  how  awful  was  the  place 
Where  Godhead  met  me  face  to  face — 
I  do  not  therefore  you  despise, 
Ye're  no  less  lovely  in  my  eyes, 
Scenes,  first  beheld  !  still,  in  your  face 
I  find  a  glory  and  a  grace. 
SCOTCH  PLAINS,  AUGUST,  1853. 
'5 


226  POEMS    OF   PLACES. 


A   SABBATH    AT    NIAGARA. 

-IfT^OREVERMORE,  from  thee,  Niagara  ! 

Religious  Cataract  !  Most  Holy  Fane  ! 
A  service  and  a  symphony  go  up 
Into  the  ear  of  God.     'Tis  Sabbath  morn. 
My  soul,  refreshed  and  full  of  comfort,  hears 
Thy  welcome  call  to  worship.     All  night  long 
A  murmur,  like  the  memory  of  a  sound, 
Has  filled  my  sleep  and  made  my  dreams  devout. 
It  was  the  deep  unintermittent  roll 
Of  thy  eternal  anthem,  pealing  still 
Upon  the  slumbering  and  muffled  sense, 
Thence  echoing  in  the  soul's  mysterious  depths 
With  soft  reverberations.     How  the  earth 
Trembles  with  hallelujahs,  loud  as  break 
From  banded  Seraphim  and  Cherubim 
Singing  before  the  Throne,  while  God  vouchsafes 
Vision  and  audience  to  prostrate  Heaven  ! 
My  soul,  that  else  were  mute,  transported  finds 
In  you,  O  inarticulate  Harmonies  ! 
Expression  for  unutterable  thoughts, 


POEMS    OF   PLACES.  227 

Surpassing  the  impertinence  of  words. 
For  that  the  petty  artifice  of  speech 
Cannot  pronounce  th'  Unpronounceable, 
Nor  meet  the  infinite  demands  of  praise 
Before  descending  Godhead,  lo  !  she  makes 
Of  this  immense  significance  of  sound, 
Sublime  appropriation,  chanting  it  anew, 
As  her  "  Te  Deum,"  and  sweet  Hymn  of  Laud. 


O  God  !     I  thank  Thee,  I  can  do  no  less, 
Since  by  Thy  grace  it  is,  and  not  by  merit, 
That  Nature's  glorious  fullness  I  inherit ; 
That  I,  with  all  embracing  arms,  may  press 
The  perfect  Beauty,  present  in  Thy  works, 
Present  in  all,  in  all  profoundly  lurks  ; 
May  take  the  matchless  Venus  to  my  side, 
As  mine  elect,  my  well  beloved,  immortal  Bride  ; 
With  a  legitimate  and  holy  rapture,  kiss 
Her  unaverted  face,  and  taste  a  boundless  bliss. 
O  what  am  I.  that  I  should  so  aspire, 
Thus  with  the  Daughter  of  th'  Eternal  Sire, 
Refulgent  with  His  likeness,  aye  to  wed  ! 
To  place  the  crown  of  glory  on  my  head, 


228  POEMS    OF   PLACES. 

By  virtue  of  these  high  espousals,  heir 

Of  Thine  eternal  kingdom  which  is  everywhere. 

I  now  but  know  in  part, 

The  sum  of  what  Thou  art  ; 

'Tis  little  that  I  see 

Of  her  infinity, 

But  little  of  those  charms,  whose  perfect  whole 
Shall  ravish  the  transfigured  and  exalted  soul. 

Immortal  gratitude, 

For  that  sweet  earnest  of  beatitude, 
Found  in  those  glimpses  which  to  me  are  given, 
Of  her  whose  proper  residence  is  heaven  ! 
When  comes  a  radiance  streaming  from  the  sky, 
I,  by  that  token,  know  that  she  is  nigh  : 
When  Earth  puts  on  her  robe  of  purest  green, 

And  flowers  fair 

Spring  everywhere, 

Her  presence  perfumes  and  endears  the  scene  ; 
When  Ocean  rises  in  his  majesty, 
I've  seen  her  walking  on  the  troubled  Sea, 

An  angel  form 

Amid  the  storm, 
But  never,  never,  until  now, 


POEMS    OF   PLACES.  229 

V 

Till  in  this  place, 

So  seen  her  face  to  face, 
Celestial  glories  beaming  on  her  brow, 
By  each  indubitable  sign 
Proved  an  apocalypse  of  the  divine. 

All  hail,  Niagara  !  immortal  Wonder,  hail  ! 

Rapt  as  a  prophet,  I  have  stood 
And  nothing  spoke,  for  what  could  words  avail? 

Or,  said  unconscious,  It  is  good, 
Good  to  be  here, 
With  God  so  near, 
Here  will  I  stay,  nor  evermore  depart  ! 

What  time  my  soul  astonished,  from  her  swoon 

Awoke,  her  powers  recovered  soon. 
Meanwhile,  I  felt  th'  eternal  mystery, 

Like  lightning  through  my  being  dart, 
Then  as  I  entered  that  o'ershadowing  Cloud, 
That  dread  Shekinah,  Shrine  of  Deity, 
And  fell  upon  my  face,  and  heard  One  speak  aloud, 

But  not  in  mortal  dialect,  or  speech  ; 

The  sacred  import,  to  my  soul's  high  reach 

In  that  deep  trance,  intelligible  alone, 

That  mystery  of  words,  that  thunder  tone. 


230  POEMS    OF   PLACES. 

I  heard,  and  felt — or,  was  it  but  a  dream  ? 

The  adamantine  chain  of  sin 
Fall  off,  as  riven  by  the  lightning's  beam, 
And  a  new  birth  and  being  thence  begin. 
O,  can  it  be, 

This  broken  chain 
Shall  close  again, 
And  I  shall  lose  my  new  found  liberty  ? 

Is  God  not  here  ? 
The  thunder  utters,  Yes  ! 

The  trembling  rocks  in  fear 
The  truth  confess  ; 
The  assenting  mountains  nod, 

And  all  things  round 

Echo  one  sound, 
All  testify  of  God. 

O,  let  my  soul  exult, 

That  here  she  may  consult, 
The  Oracle  Divine  ! 

That  at  Jerusalem,  no  more, 

Is  fixed  as  heretofore 

Jehovah's  Shrine  ! 
That  ancient  ritual  is  past, 
That  Temple  to  the  ground  is  cast, 


POEMS    OF   PLACES. 

Those  symbols  and  those  semblances  sublime, 

Endured  but  for  a  time. 
Their  everlasting  prototypes,  I  ween, 
Their  patterns  on  the  Mount  by  Moses  seen, 

Were  these,  are  here  ! 

This  much,  at  least  is  clear; 
If,  in  th'  immensity  of  space, 
God  makes  one  spot  His  special  dwelling-place, 
That  sacred  spot  is  this. 

I  find  the  witness  and  the  sign, 

Authentic,  marvelous,  divine, 
Here  in  th'  ebullient,  luminous  abyss, 

Where  thousand  suns  once  bright, 
So  seems,  now  back  exhausted  pour 

Their  full  collected  light, 
In  ceaseless  flood  for  evermore. 

I  tread  the  vestibule,  I  press, 
I,  who  am  dust  and  nothingness, 
Within  the  Veil,  into  the  Holiest  Place, 
Even  to  the  Mercy  seat,  and  Throne  of  Grace. 

I  look  around,  I  kneel, 

The  Deity  I  feel  ; 

Too  bright  for  visual  sense 


232  POEMS     OF  PLACES. 

Is  His  magnificence, 

But  there,  methinks,  on  the  horizon's  rim 
I  see  the  hovering  wings  of  Cherubim, 

Open,  ye  crystal  gates  ! 

The  King  of  Glory  waits  ; 

Ye  rainbows,  spring  your  arch 

For  His  triumphal  march  ! 
Who  is  the  King  of  Glory  ?  He 
Whose  presence  fills  immensity  ; 
Th'  Omnific  Word,  who  spoke, 
And  day  on  darkness  broke. 
Who  is  the  King  of  Glory  ?  Who  ? 
The  Faithful  and  the  True, 
The  Lord,  omnipotent  to  save, 
Who  triumphed  o'er  the  grave  ; 
Who  rising  from  the  dead 
Captivity  captive  led  ; 
Who  spoiled  Infernal  Powers, 
And  made  the  victory  ours. 
He,  wonderful  to  tell, 
Still  deigns  with  men  to  dwell  ; 
Has  built  Him  here  a  home, 
Gates,  pillars,  architrave,  and  dome 
Of  molten  emeralds,  and  precious 


POEMS    OF   PLACES.  233 

Richer  than  grace  imperial  diadems  : 

Here  reared  His  throne,  here  fixed  His  seat, 

Where  everlasting  thunders  beat. 

Open,  ye  pearly  gates  ! 

The  King  of  Glory  waits. 
Ye  sapphire  doors,  wide  open  swing, 
Admit  the  pomp  of  the  Celestial  King  ! 

Ye  censers,  smoke  !  waft  high, 

Your  clouds  of  incense  filling  all  the  sky  ! 
In  this  high  service  can  I  bear  no  part? 

One  sacrifice 

He'll  not  despise, 
A  broken  spirit  and  a  contrite  heart. 

By  this  rapt  converse,  lifted  high 

Upon  the  wings  of  ecstasy, 

My  soul,  grown  buoyant,  bold  and  rash, 

Goes  forth  to  meet  the  Cataract's  dash. 

I  climb  the  fearful  precipice, 

And  look  and  lean  there  o'er  the  abyss  ; 

Ascend  the  loftiest  pinnacle, 

Of  this  rock-built  and  mighty  fane — 
A  thought,  I  instantly  repel, 

A  horrid  thought,  shoots  through  my  brain, 


234  POEMS    OF  PLACES. 

As  standing  on  the  perilous  steep, 
The  Enemy  tempts  me  down  to  leap. 

As  through  the  lone  and  wooded  isle, 
I  pensive  walk  and  muse  the  while, 
The  scales  fall  suddenly  from  my  eyes  : 
With  a  new  transport  of  surprise, 
I  see  all  common  things  intense 
With  mighty  pomp  of  evidence  ; 
Each  insect,  flower,  and  shrub,  and  tree 
Blazing  with  proofs  of  Deity  : 
Where'er  I  look,  where'er  I  turn, 
His  glowing  footprints  I  discern  ; 
In  small  and  great,  alike,  I  find 
Sweet  intimations  left  behind 
Of  wisdom,  goodness,  power,  and  grace — 
The  glory  of  a  hidden  face  : 
In  every  sound,  in  accents  clear, 
His  name  is  whispered  in  my  ear  : 
My  quickened  sense,  now  as  I  pass, 
Hears  holy  anthems  from  the  grass. 
Meek  insect  choristers  !  not  in  vain, 
You  feebly  pipe  your  humble  strain, 
Not  less  significant,  when  understood, 
Than  thunder  sounding  through  the  wood. 


POEMS    OF   PLACES. 


235 


WINDERMERE,* 

ONCE  more,  sweet  Windermere  !  once  more 
I  tread  thy  consecrated  shore  : 
From  distant  lands  my  pilgrim  feet 
Have  sought  thy  exquisite  retreat, 
Where  thou,  like  holiest  anchorite, 
Dost  muse  by  day  and  dream  by  night, 
While  mirrored  in  thy  peaceful  breast, 
All  images  of  beauty  rest — 
The  glories  of  the  morn  and  even, 
The  matchless  excellence  of  heaven. 

The  mountains,  towering  and  grand, 
O'erlooking  thee,  enamoured  stand  ; 
Well  pleased,  each  in  his  proper  place 
To  catch  new  glimpses  of  thy  face. 
With  what  a  splendor  God  endows 
Their  most  superb  and  kingly  brows  ! 
Yet  not  the  proudest  far  or  near, 
But  holds  thee  honorable  and  dear. 


*  Westmoreland,  England.     Wordsworth,  Southey,  Coleridge,  Wilson  (Chris 
topher  North),  De  Quincey,  etc.,  were  all  sometime  residents  of  the  Lake  District. 


236  POEMS    OF  PLACES. 

How  those  behind  would  seem  to  strain, 
And  tiptoe  stand  a  sight  to  gain  ! 

A  higher  homage  yet  than  these 

Is  whispered  in  the  passing  breeze  ; 

Celestial  warblings,  soft  and  clear, 

Steal  sweetly  on  my  ravished  ear. 

O  favored  Lake  !  above  whose  banks, 

Immortal  Bards  have  sung  their  thanks, 

For  that  they  knew  to  thee  they  owed 

Much  of  the  rapture  they  bestowed, 

That  half  the  secret  of  their  art 

Was  thy  shrined  beauty  in  their  heart. 

1855- 


IN    MEMORIAM. 


HUMAN  LIFE. 

PRAYER  IN  AFFLICTION. 

ELEGIAC  STANZAS. 

CONSOLATION. 

ON  THE  DEATH  OF  A  MISSIONARY. 


IN    MEMORIAM. 


HUMAN  LIFE. 

AH  !  what  is  Life  ?  a  vessel,  driven 
Across  Time's  wild  and  storm-swept  sea. 
Unhelmed,  unmasted,  sails  all  riven, 

To  sink  at  last,  no  more  to  be  ? 
A  thing  of  nameless  destiny? 

From  nothing  sprung,  to  nothing  born, 
Unless  to  vice  and  misery, 

Provoking  pity  less  than  scorn  ? 

O,  dark  in  mind,  if  not  in  deed, 

Whom  guilt,  perchance,  prompts  thus  to  think  ! 
For  creedless  fools  have  still  a  creed, 

That  lead-like  helps  the  soul  to  sink. 
They,  pushed  by  passion  to  the  brink 

Of  sin's  abyss,  leap  madly  down, 
And  then  there's  naught  from  which  to  shrink, 

So  dreadful  as  their  Maker's  frown. 


240  IN   MEMORIAM. 

The  years  depart,  and  with  them  go 

The  friends  we  love,  ah  !  whither  fled  ? 
Unwarned,  mysterious  breezes  blow, 

That  waft  to  regions  of  the  dead. 
Gained  they  the  port  with  sails  all  spread, 

Where  sky  doth  mingle,  with  the  main  ? 
Where  tears  once  wiped,  no  more  are  shed  ? 

Then  life  is  loss  and  death  is  gain. 


Ah  me  !  what  bitter  tears  I  poured 

Above  a  Father's  corse  of  late  ! 
No  heavier  loss  e'er  son  deplored  ; 

I  mourned  continually  his  fate, 
With  sorrow  that  would  not  abate, 

Till  with  the  sweet  blood  mingled  gall- 
For  fear  and  unbelief  were  great, 

And  every  faith-born  comfort  small. 

Sleep  is  a  mystery,  no  less 

Than  Death,  and  may  bestow 

A  sense  and  function  like  to  this, 
Which  waking  we  can  never  know. 


IN   MEMORIAM. 

May  lift  the  veil  that  hides,  and  show 
The  secrets  of  the  world  unseen  ; 

Call  up  the  dead  of  long  ago 

For  converse  them  and  us  between. 

Shade  of  my  sire  !  O,  nightly  bless 

My  pillow  in  that  radiant  guise, 
I  saw  Thee  once,  when  comfortless, 

And  heard  with  rapturous  surprise, 
Thee,  rapt  new  comer  from  the  skies, 

With  oath-like  emphasis  declare, 
That  all  that's  great  in  Goodness  lies, 

And  all  that's  sweet,  and  all  that's  fair. 

Tossed  on  the  waves  of  Time  and  Change, 

That  roll  and  rock,  and  rush,  and  rave, 
Engulfing  all  within  their  range, 

Each  billowy  vale  a  mighty  grave  , 
I  see  a  hand  stretched  out  to  save. 

There  far  within  yon  azure  cope, 
As  borne  aloft  on  topmost  wave, 

Cast  forth,  my  soul,  thine  anchor,  hope  ! 

Cast  all  on  God  when  worst  ills  frown  ! 

For  neither  can  thy  burden  small, 
16 


241 


242  IN   MEMORIAM. 

Nor  multitude  of  worlds  weigh  down, 
The  Godhead  underlying  all. 

Upstarting  quickly  at  Heaven's  call, 
Strain  up  the  Mount  that's  summitless, 

Where  sunbeams  ever  flash  and  fall — 
Sky-piercing  Mount  of  Holiness. 


PRAYER    IN   AFFLICTION. 

SINCE  dust  to  Deity  may  speak, 
I  come,  O  God  !  with  bleeding  breast ; 
Hot  tears  fast  falling  on  my  cheek, 

Dissolving  manhood  ;  heaving  chest ; 
And  quivering  lip  that  unexpressed 

Leaves  words  and  utters  only  sighs — 
The  greatness  of  my  grief  attest, 
Grief  steeped  in  bitterest  memories. 

I  need  not  tell  Thee  she  is  dead, 

Cold  in  the  church-yard,  who  to  me 

Was  as  all  earthly  joys  instead — 
My  wife,  my  lost  felicity. 


IN   MEMO  RI  AM. 

I  stretch  forth  vacant  arms  to  Thee, 

The  while  my  heart  makes  bitter  moan, 

That  I  no  more  her  form  shall  see, 
That  I  must  tread  life's  path  alone. 

Thy  brilliant  boon  of  love  and  bliss, 

In  her  bestowed,  is  mine  no  more  : 
O  help  my  heart  to  bow  to  this, 

To  trust,  and  tremble,  and  adore  ! 
For  she,  called  mine,  was  Thine  before, 

Nor  did  my  merit  title  give, 
Else  wouldst  Thou  now  the  lost  restore, 

And  cause  the  dead  again  to  live. 


243 


Her  life  transcribed  each  wedlock  vow  : 
Prized  much,  but  not  enough,  while  here, 

I  owe  to  her  sweet  memory  now, 
"  The  meed  of  some  melodious  tear."  * 

Thrice  happy  he,  whose  heart  is  clear 
From  self-reproach,  regret,  remorse  ; 

Who,  through  no  hour  of  former  year, 
Has  failed  to  prove  love's  utmost  force. 

*  Lycidas,  line  14. — Milton. 


244  IN   MEMORIAM. 

II. 

O,  she  was  all  a  wife  should  be  ! 

Albeit  her  thoughts  were  meekly  bent 
On  household  good  and  piety, 

What  life  so  sweetly  eloquent, 
Or  so  acceptable  to  Thee, 

As  one  in  humble  duty  spent  ! 

,If  not  to  dazzle  with  the  play 

Of  wit  was  hers,  she  knew  to  bless, 

With  smiles  as  cheerful  as  the  day, 
And  looks  of  love  and  tenderness  : 

Maintaining  thus  by  happiest  art, 

Perpetual  sunshine  in  the  heart. 

'Twas  not  the  fading  charms  of  face, 
That  riveted  Love's  golden  chain  : 

It  was  the  high  celestial  grace 

Of  Goodness,  that  doth  never  wane — 

Whose  are  the  sweets  that  never  pall, 

Delicious,  pure,  and  crowning  all. 

III. 

Now  she  is  gone  !  now  she  is  gone  ! 
Her,  thickest  night  doth  ever  shroud 


IN   MEMORIAM.  245 

From  mortal  view,  and  I'm  like  one 
Whose  "  welfare  passeth  as  a  cloud." 

Lo  !  I  too  go  with  sorrow  bowed 
To  the  dim  land  of  shadows,  where 

She  waiteth,  haply,  'mid  the  crowd 
Of  coming  souls,  my  entrance  there. 

Yet  were  it  better  far  to  think, 

She's  now  my  glistering  angel  guard, 
Still  joined  by  love's  unsevered  link, 

And  near  to  keep  aye  watch  and  ward — 
Thy  swift  winged  messenger,  O  Lord  ! 

To  bear  me  good,  to  banish  ill, 
Along  life's  pathway,  steep  and  hard, 

My  solace,  friend,  and  help-meet  still. 

O,  that  my  smitten  heart  may  gush 

Melodious  praise — like  as  when  o'er 
yEolian  harp-strings  wild  winds  rush, 

And  all  abroad  sad  music  pour, 
So  sweet,  Heaven's  minstrelsy  might  hush 

Brief  time  to  listen — for  I  know 
The  hand,  that  doth  my  comforts  crush, 

Builds  bliss  upon  the  base  of  woe. 


246  IN   MEMORIAM. 

If  Thine  own  Son  was  perfect  made, 

Through  suffering  deep  as  hell's  abyss. 
And  light  afflictions  here  are  paid 

With  an  eternal  weight  of  bliss  ; — 
Sure  I,  unmurmuring,  should  kiss 

Thy  rod  of  judgment,  patient  climb 
The  Mount  of  Pain,  content  that  this 

Leads  gradual  to  Thy  seat  sublime. 

The  time  is  near,  when  all  shall  seem, 

That  men  pursue  with  ceaseless  thirst, 
The  vainest  nothings  of  a  dream, 

Or  phantoms  by  wild  madness  nurst : 
Then  when  of  life  I  know  the  worst, 

And  death  his  stroke  shall  not  defer, 
On  my  rapt  soul  perchance  shall  burst, 

The  vision  bright  of  Heaven  and  her. 

The  murmur  of  my  whispered  prayer 
Fails  not  to  reach  Thy  listening  ear — 

Though  sounds  unnumbered  fill  the  air, 
It  o'er  them  all  swells  loud  and  clear, 


IN   MEM  OR  I  AM.  247 

Proceeds  it  but  from  heart  sincere, 

All  crushed  and  contrite,  yielding  thence 

A  pleasing  fragrance,  far  more  dear 
Than  sweetest  smoke  of  frankincense. 


ELEGIAC    STANZAS.* 

OUR  hold  on  life,  how  frail  ! 
We  draw  precarious  breath, 
Yea,  every  one  that  lives  is  doomed 
And  dedicate  to  death  ! 

But  then  to  Faith  is  given 

A  faculty  intense, 
To  see  a  life  beyond  the  tomb, 

Invisible  to  sense  ; 

Where,  on  celestial  thrones, 

Sits  crowned  immortal  worth  ; 
For  Heaven  is  peopled  with  the  good 

And  beautiful  of  earth. 

*  On  the  death  of  Miss  Sarah  C.  Pennington,  daughter  of  Dr.  S.  H.  Pennington. 


248  IN  MEMORIAM. 

Too  oft,  when  such  depart, 

We  wonder  and  we  weep, 
As  though  we  deemed  the  swoon  of  death, 

Were  an  eternal  sleep. 

Absurdly  we  complain  : 

Those  virtues,  that  we  prize, 

Are  but  their  spotless  meetness  for 
And  title  to  the  skies. 

A  maiden  lately  stood, 

One  foot  upon  the  sod, 
The  other  on  the  golden  stairs 

Conducting  up  to  God  ; 

While  angels  hovering  near, 

Shook  fragrance  from  their  wings, 

And,  ever  and  anon,  were  heard 
Mysterious  whisperings. 

The  meaning  well  we  knew  ; 

So  prayed  with  fearful  heart : 
"Since  Heaven  is  rich,  and  Earth  is  poor, 
O  let  her  not  depart  !  " 


IN   MEMORIAM.  249 

We  got  not  what  we  asked, 

Because  we  asked  amiss  : 
Fond  erring  prayers  could  not  delay 

Her  entrance  into  bliss. 

When  all  was  o'er,  we  saw 

With  hushed  and  wondering  breath, 
That  loveliness,  which  life  adorned, 

Now  beautifying  death. 

From  heavenly  heights  could  we 

Take  in  the  mighty  sweep, 
We  then,  like  her,  should  doubtless  see 

There  was  no  cause  to  weep. 

But  earthly  mists  obscure, 

And  tears  bedim  our  sight, 
And  darkly  through  our  veil  of  grief 

Is  seen  that  world  of  light. 

O  for  the  darkened  home  ! 

O  for  the  vacant  chair  ! 
O  for  the  voice  that  nevermore 

Shall  wake  sweet  echoes  there  ! 


250  IN   MEMORIAM. 

Forgive  us,  that  we  mourn  ! 
For  that  our  spirits  faint  ! 
Forgive  us,  that  we  wish  thee  back, 

O  dear,  O  happy  saint  ! 
SUNDAY  EVENING,  OCTOBER  31,  1858. 


CONSOLATION. 

UNSPARING  Death  has  trampled  down 
Unnumbered  generations, 
And  made  the  earth  a  Golgotha 

Of  endless  desolations  ; 
And  still  within  the  monster's  breast 

Th'  eternal  hunger  rages, 
Unsatisfied,  throughout  the  long 
And  mighty  lapse  of  ages. 

He  laughs  at  bars,  his  shadow  falls, 

Invisible  to  mortals, 
Across  the  threshold  of  our  homes, 

And  passes  through  the  portals  ; 


IN   MEMORIAM.  251 

And  goes  into  the  chamber,  where 

Our  dearest  ones  are  sleeping  ; 
When,  straightway,  piercing  shrieks  are  heard, 

And  sounds  of  bitter  weeping. 

O  ye,  whose  eyelids  overflow, 

Like  springs  of  living  water  ; 
Who  day  and  night,  unceasingly 

Bewail  a  lovely  daughter  ; 
Who  sadly  sit  amid  the  wreck 

Of  joys  too  fondly  cherished, 
And  shattered  schemes  of  happiness, 

And  expectations  perished — 
Look  up  !    dear  stricken  ones,  look  up  ! 

Amid  your  deep  affliction, 
And  you  shall  see  the  hand  that  smites, 

Upraised  in  benediction  ; 
And  through  the  breaking  clouds,  behold 

The  calm  cerulean  spaces, 
Bestudded  thick  with  loving  eyes, 

And  sweet  familiar  faces. 

Your  sometime  darling  needs  no  more 

A  parent's  weak  protection  • 
Forever  folded  in  the  arms 

Of  Infinite  Affection  ; 


IN   MEMORIAM. 

Upon  the  Saviour's  bosom  placed, 
Above  the  reach  of  sorrow, 

She  waits  your  coming,  knowing  well, 
'Twill  be  upon  the  morrow. 

Escaped  the  turbulence  of  earth, 

The  evil  and  the  error  ; 
And  more  than  conqueror  over  death, 

Its  darkness  and  its  terror  ; 
Ye  surely  would  not  have  her  now, 

All  heaven  behind  her  flinging, 
Put  on  the  robes  of  grief  again, 

Who  wears  the  robes  of  singing. 


ON  THE  DEATH  OF  A  MISSIONARY.* 

HOW  sweet  the  memory  of  those, 
Who  toiled  for  Christ,  and  now  repose 
Beneath  the  soil  their  feet  had  trod, 
While  that  they  sowed  the  seed  of  God  ! 
In  whom  the  Saviour's  love  so  wrought, 
They  gave  up  all  and  judged  it  naught — 

*  Miss  Elizabeth  Graham,  who  went  as  a  Missionary  among  the  Choctaws — 
afterwards  married  to  Rev.  Mr.  Reed  of  that  Mission. 


IN   MEMORIAM.  253 

Deeming  His  smile  made  rich  amends, 
For  loss  of  country,  home,  and  friends. 

O  thou,  too  early  gone  to  rest  ! 
Whose  love  was  tried  and  stood  the  test : 
Thy  Master's  pleasure  understood, 
Consulting  not  with  flesh  and  blood, 
With  resolute  heroic  heart, 
Thou  madest  ready  to  depart — 
"  Wilt  thou  ? "  He  said..    Thou  saidst,  "  I  will !  " 
And  rose  the  mandate  to  fulfil. 

How  strong  wert  thou  who  seemed  so  weak, 

O  gentle  one  !     O  maiden  meek  ! 

While  love,  that  stronger  is  than  death, 

Thy  spirit  nerved,  Elizabeth  ! 

Nothing  thy  steadfast  soul  could  shake  ; 

The  cross  was  dear  for  Jesus'  sake  ; 

Vain  all  impediment  and  bar, 

When  Duty  beckoned  from  afar. 

What  if  no  future  sun  should  rise, 
No  morrow  break  in  eastern  skies, 
For  aye,  to  all  of  woman-born 
Were  shut  and  sealed  the  gates  of-  morn, 


254  IN   MEMORIAM. 

Streaked  by  no  gleam  of  morning  light 
The  endless  horror  of  that  night, — 
To  weary  watchers  for  the  day, 
What  joy  were  in  a  single  ray  ! 

Worse  than  the  blindness  of  the  blind, 

Darker  than  night,  the  night  of  mind  ; 

Sadder  and  gloomier  than  death, 

The  life  that  breathes  but  common  breath. 

Lo  !    in  immensity  they  grope, 

But  find  not  God,  and  have  no  hope. 

O  might  that  Sun,  which  shines  for  all, 

Upon  those  darkened  eyeballs  fall  ! 

As  instruments  of  Heaven's  sweet  will, 
Thy  delicate  fingers  used  their  skill 
To  couch  the  cataract  of  sin, 
And  let  the  welcome  splendor  in. 
How  glorious  !  when  the  poor  Choctaw 
Looked  up  amazed,  and  said  he  saw  ; 
By  spiritual  miracle  of  sight, 
Made  conscious  of  a  world  of  light. 

O  mother  !  called  to  her  reward, 
In  the  dear  presence  of  her  Lord, 


IN    MEMORIAM.  255 

Be  comforted  !  thy  cloud  of  grief 
Hath  silver  lining,  and  is  brief. 
A  little  while,  and  thou  shalt  be 
Made  happy  in  her  company  : 
A  moment's  pause  of  pulse  and  breath 
And  thou  art  with  Elizabeth. 
JANUARY  27,  1857. 


POEMS    OF     FRIENDSHIP 


EPITHALAMIUM. 

THE  FRIENDS  I  LEFT  BEHIND. 

A  NEW  YEAR'S  GREETING. 

TO  MY  LATE  GUESTS. 

FOUR-SCORE. 

LINES  TO  MISS  H . 

FAITHFUL  FOREVER. 


POEMS    OF    FRIENDSHIP. 


EPITHALAMIUM. 

WE  in  life's  journey  blindly  run, 
We  brave  the  dark  of  what's  to  be  ; 
But  cannot  tell,  what  we  shall  see 
Or  suffer  by  to-morrow's  sun. 

Lifting  our  eyes,  we  catch  a  glance 
Of  some  fair  face  unseen  before, 
It  may  be  through  an  open  door 

Which  straight  is  shut.     We  call  it  chance. 

But  yet  that  casual  look,  so  brief, 
May  be  decisive  of  our  fate  : 
The  soul,  discerning  there  its  mate, 

Claims  fellowship  of  joy  and  grief. 

Soon  marriage  bells  swing  to  and  fro, 
And,  with  alternate  stroke,  repeat 
Mine,  thine,  in  iteration  sweet, 

To  make  of  twain  one  life  below. 


260  POEMS    OF   FRIENDSHIP. 

Hail !  happy  pair  !  by  welding  flame 

Of  love  made  one,  a  dual  soul, 

A  richer  self,  a  dearer  whole, 
In  spirit  one,  and  one  in  name. 

No  knife  so  keen  as  can  divide 

Your  new-born  selfhood,  or  restore 
Each  soul  to  what  it  was,  before 

You  were  a  bridegroom  and  a  bride. 

But  keener  than  the  tempered  blade 

Are  thoughtless  words  ;  they  cut  and  pierce, 
And  waken  agonies  more  fierce 

Than  wounds  by  mortal  weapons  made. 

Beware  of  these  !  abhor  as  hell, 
All  strife  and  schism,  making  two, 
Cutting  your  vital  oneness  through  ! 

Divided  halves  could  live  as  well. 

Pursue  content  in  pleasant  ways  ! 
And  suck  the  nectar  of  the  hours, 
As  bees  extract  the  sweets  of  flowers, 

And  hive  the  honey  of  the  days  ! 


POEMS    OF   FRIENDSHIP.  261 

And  would  you  not  Heaven's  blessing  lose, 

Let  prayer  each  morning  duly  rise, 

Like  exhalations  toward  the  skies 
To  fall  at  night  in  friendly  dews  ! 

Bend  meekly  to  affliction's  rod  ! 

Be  sure  the  strokes  are  kindly  meant ! 

Together  climb  the  steep  ascent 
And  hand  in  hand  mount  up  to  God  ! 


THE  FRIENDS  I  LEFT  BEHIND. 

OVER  the  Waters,  waste  and  wide, 
Impelled  by  a  resistless  force, 
Scornful  alike  of  wind  and  tide, 

The  gallant  Ship  pursues  her  course, 
And  every  moment  greater  grows 

The  space,  that  doth  from  Home  divide, 
But  now  my  spirit  backward  goes, 

And  I  am  seated  by  the  side 
Of  those,  the  faithful,  fond,  and  kind, 
The  cherished  Friends  I  left  behind. 


262  POEMS    OF   FRIENDSHIP. 

Th'  unfathomed  Ocean,  dark  and  dread 

Upbears  me  on  his  heaving  breast ; 
And  nightly  in  my  cradle  bed, 

He  rocks  me  pleasantly  to  rest. 
I  sleep,  but  to  my  waking  thought, 

The  blessed  form  of  one  long  dead 
Appears,  as  when  her  hand  I  sought, 

As  when  I  in  her  beauty  wed, 
The  sweet,  the  gentle,  and  the  kind, 
In  life's  sad  journey  left  behind. 

Far  to  the  North  we  boldly  steer 

In  lone  and  unfrequented  seas  ; 
I  feel  the  mystery  and  the  fear, 

And  they  compel  me  to  my  knees  : 
Then  softly  in  my  Maker's  ear, 

Devoutly  I  my  wishes  pour, 
These  watery  solitudes  grow  dear, 

They  bring  me  closer  than  before 
To  Him  the  great,  the  good,  the  kind, 
My  God,  and  theirs,  I  left  behind. 

What  though  the  broad  and  billowy  Deep, 
Now  for  a  time  shall  intervene, 


POEMS    OF   FRIENDSHIP.  263 

No  roaring  gulf  of  waters  sweep 

Our  fond  and  loving  hearts  between  : 
A  few  brief  moons  shall  wax  and  wane, 

And,  guided  by  that  Power  unseen, 
I  then  shall  clasp  dear  hands  again, 

Shall  greet  each  well-remembered  scene, 
And  shall,  I  know,  still  constant  find 

The  long-tried  Friends  I  left  behind. 
AT  SEA,  STEAMER  PACIFIC,  JUNE,   1854. 


A    NEW   YEAR'S    GREETING. 

A  HAPPY  New  Year  to  you  all  : 
In  answer  to  my  humble  call, 
On  your  dear  heads  may  blessings  fall 

From  Heavenly  Friend, 
Without  a  moment's  interval, 
To  the  Year's  end  ! 

O,  there  is  breath,  that's  more  than  breath, 
A  prayer  that  saith  more  than  it  saith, 
The  prayer  of  prayer,  the  prayer  of  faith, 


264  POEMS    OF   FRIENDSHIP. 

That  prayer  I  pray, 
(Which  the  heart  only  uttereth) 
To  God  to-day  ! 

That  love  is  poor  the  mouth  can  speak, 
The  language  of  the  lips  is  weak, 
No  organ  hath  true  love,  we  seek 

In  vain  t'  impart 
(Though  ours  the  master  tongue  of  Greek) 

Th'  unuttered  heart. 

As  one  great  instrumental  whole, 

Responsive  to  divine  control, 

The  spheres  make  music  as  they  roll  : 

O,  like  to  this. 
Those  sweet  vibrations  of  the  soul 

Where  true  love  is  ! 

When  summer  melts  the  selfish  frost, 
How  like  a  prince — disdaining  cost, 
Counting  for  love  the  world  well  lost — 

The  yearning  breast 
Would  the  full  universe  exhaust 

To  make  one  blest  ! 


POEMS    OF   FRIENDSHIP.  265 

When  spoils  of  Nature  and  of  Art 
Have  all  been  lavished,  still,  O  Heart  ! 
Esteeming  this  the  smallest  part, 

Thy  fond  desire 
Would  into  unseen  regions  dart 

For  something  higher. 

Even  so,  my  wishes  upward  rise, 

On  wings  of  prayer  above  the  skies, 

To  bring  that  good,  God's  grace  supplies 

To  sinful  men, 
From  that  dear  bosom,  where  it  lies. 

To  you,  Amen  ! 
JANUARY  i,  1865. 


TO    MY    LATE    GUESTS. 

RESPONSE   TO    "B.C.   K." 

TRUE  Friendship  is  a  goodly  tree, 
Whose  roots  strike  deeper  than  the  sea 
Into  the  heart  of  certainty  : 
'Bove  windy  wars, 
It  mounts,  and  blooms  eternally 
Beyond  the  stars. 


266  POEMS    OF    FRIENDSHIP. 

I  have  a  Friend,  a  Friend  sincere, 

My  father's  Friend,  thence  doubly  dear, 

Approved  and  prized  through  many  a  year  : 

Coleridgean  speech,* 
That  often  charmed  my  youthful  ear, 

Still  lives  to  teach. 

Another  Friend  to  me  is  given 
By  the  beneficence  of  Heaven — 
The  Graces  three,  the  Sibyls  seven, 

The  sacred  Nine, 
To  her  akin — one  of  them  even — 

This  Friend  of  mine  ! 

From  hidden  Heliconian  springs, 
I  hear  melodious  murmurings, 
Sweet,  dreamy,  far-off  echoings 

Of  streams  at  night — 
The  noise  of  swift  Pegasean  wings 

In  onward  flight. 

*The  reference  is  to  Hon.  William  B.  Kinney,  lately  deceased.  His  friend, 
Rev.  Samuel  I.  Prime,  D.  D.,  in  an  eloquent  discourse  delivered  at  his  funeral, 
October  23,  1880,  spoke  of  his  remarkable  powers  in  conversation,  saying  that  he 
had  never  known  his  equal.  Certainly,  there  are  few  to  whom  the  language  of 
Shakespeare  would  better  apply  than  to  him.  The  result  of  his  studies  and  reflec 
tions,  when  dilating  upon  some  favorite  theme, 

"  His  fair  tongue 

Delivered  in  such  apt  and  gracious  words, 

That  aged  ears  played  truant  at  his  tale. 

And  younger  hearefs  were  quite  ravished, 

So  sweet  and  voluble  was  his  discourse." 


POEMS    OF   FRIENDSHIP.  267 

As  flame  conjunctive  is  to  fire, 
As  music  to  the  smitten  wire, 
As  praise  to  the  celestial  choir, 

To  her  belong 
The  inspiration  of  the  lyre, 

Instinctive  song. 

She,  courteous  Muse  !  does  not  disdain 

To  visit  me,  with  me  remain  : 

She  weaves  me  rhymes  to  make  me  vain  ; 

My  heart  deceives 
With  praises,  thick  as  autumn  rain, 

Or  falling  leaves. 

October's  tinted  days  have  fled  ; 

Both  welcomes  and  farewells  been  said  : 

Make  glad  our  threshold  with  your  tread, 

Sweet  Friends,  once  more  ! 
"  S  A  L  V  E  !  "  *  is  writ,  beneath,  o'erhead, 

An  open  door. 
NOVEMBER  4,  1870. 

*  It  speaks  well  for  the  hospitality  of  the  ancient  Romans  that  they  caused  to  be 
inscribed  on  the  threshold  of  their  dwellings,  as  seen  to-day  in  Pompeii,  the  salu 
tatory  word  "SALVE!"  equivalent  to  our  "Welcome!"  "  Good-day  to  you  !" 
"  Health  to  you  !  "  It  is  notable  that  the  primary  reference  is  to  bodily  well-being, 
whereas  the  Oriental  and  Christian  form  of  salutation,  "Peace  be  with  you!" 
(Pax  vobiscum)  respects  tranquility  of  mind,  as  if  this  was  man's  first  concern  and 
highest  good,  rather  than  health. 


268  POEMS   OF  FRIENDSHIP. 

FOUR-SCORE. 

DEAR,  patient  sufferer,  aged  saint ! 
Although  it  makes  us  sad, 
To  see  you  worn  with  pain,  and  faint, 

We  grateful  are  and  glad, 
And  magnify,  and  bless  the  Lord, 

Who  has  rebuked  our  fears, 
And  condescended  to  regard 

The  pleading  of  our  tears  ; 
And  turned  the  shafts  of  death  aside, 

So  that  they  did  no  harm, 
And  bade  you  in  His  love  confide, 

And  lean  upon  His  arm  ; 
Who  has  not  left  you  comfortless, 

But  made  His  waters  burst, 
In  streams  of  flowing  plenteousness, 

To  satisfy  your  thirst. 
Of  vanished  years  He  to  the  sum 

Has  added  one  year  more, 
Until  to-day  your  children  come 

To  bless  you  now  fourscore. 
God  bless  you,  Mother  !— God,  the  Rock 

Of  the  believing  heart — 


POEMS  OF  FRIENDSHIP.  269 

Our  prayers  at  Heaven's  high  gate  shall  knock. 

Nor  will  we  hence  depart, 
But  without  ceasing,  pray  and  plead, 

That  He  will  give  relief, 
And  bind  the  wounds  that  ache  and  bleed, 

And  heal  your  present  grief. 
Wish  not  to  go,  or  wish  in  vain  ! 

We  still  would  hold  you  fast  ; 
Nor  have  you  yet,  your  wish  obtain, 

But  keep  you  to  the  last. 
Though  life  should  seem  a  dreary  waste, 

Bring  us  still  more  in  debt  ; 
Go  you  to  Heaven  !   but  make  no  haste, 

Go  slowly,  go  not  yet  ! 


LINES    TO    MISS    H- 


TURN  heavenward,  Lady,  thy  dark  eyes  ! 
Confront  the  midnight  of  the  skies  ; 
And  let  the  all-enclosing  sense 
Take  in  the  spectacle  immense  ! 
That  moment,  when  thine  eyelids  ope, 
Enter  the  glories  of  the  cope, 


270  POEMS   OF  FRIENDSHIP. 

Ten  thousand  thousand  worlds  of  light 
Throng  the  glad  gateways  of  the  sight, 
And  all  the  stars  reflected  roll 
In  the  grand  spaces  of  the  soul. 
To  make  this  pomp  a  part  of  thee, 
Thou  needest  nothing  but  to  see. 

Lady  !    behold,  where  spreads,  above 
This  lower  sky,  a  sky  of  love  : 
In  that  far  firmanent  divine, 
Th'  unsetting  stars  of  Virtue  shine. 
The  glory  of  that  upper  sphere 
Is  mirrored  in  contrition's  tear, 
As  heaven's  eternal  arch  of  blue 
Is  pictured  in  a  drop  of  dew. 
Look  up  !    believe  !    the  starry  gloom 
Shall  brighten  more  and  more,  and  bloom, 
And  God,  descending  with  the  rest, 
With  light  and  beauty  fill  thy  breast. 


POEMS   OF   FRIENDSHIP.  271 

FAITHFUL    FOREVER.* 

I  LIKE  the  book,  dear  Mr.  Kyte  ! 
I  judge  quite  orthodox  and  right 
The  story's  moral.     I,  too,  hold, 
There's  newness  in  the  trite  and  old  ; 
In  spite  of  triteness,  there's  not  one 
Grows  ever  weary  of  the  sun  ; 
And  underneath  the  common-place, 
There  dwells  a  glory  and  a  grace, 
Concealed,  mayhap,  from  careless  eyes, 
But  manifested  to  the  wise. 
Though  worn  the  theme,  not  East  nor  West 
Has  aught  of  so  much  interest 
As  Love,  the  marrying  sweet  bond 
Of  all  things  beautiful  and  fond  : 
As  dear,  as  holy,  and  as  fresh, 
As  when  God  made  of  twain  one  flesh. 
That  drunken  folly  of  the  heart, 
Which  some  call  Love  's  a  thing  apart  : 
For  Love,  true  Love,  is  sober,  wise, 
Blesses,  exalts,  and  purifies. 

*The  lines  here  given,  were  written  on  the  fly-leaf  of  abook,  loaned  bya  friend, 
entitled,  "  Faithful  Forever,"  by  Coventry  Patmore. 


272  POEMS   OF  FRIENDSHIP. 

The  doctrine's  good,  and  I  agree 
Love's  larger  half  's  Humility. 
Each  night  it  nestles  on  the  sod, 
And  every  morning  soars  to  God. 
Up  from  the  ground  it  lark-like  springs, 
Exulting  in  the  bliss  of  wings  ; 
Up,  and  still  upward,  climbing  higher 
The  skyey  summits  of  desire  ; 
From  dizzy  heights  to  dizzier  height 
Of  the  ethereal  infinite, 
But  never  reaching  the  far  top, 
Where  the  imagined  merits  stop 
Of  the  loved  object  :  wearied  pinion 
Has  rest  below  in  Love's  dominion, 
Which  comprehends  both  earth  -and  sky, 
The  near  and  far,  the  low  and  high ; — 
Its  voice, — now  heard  above  the  cloud, 
Ringing  sweetly,  ringing  loud — 
Descends,  and  drops  to  earth  again, 
A  lyric  shower,  a  heavenly  rain. 
Low  on  the  ground  with  folded  wing 
'Tis  sweet  to  sit,  and  not  to  sing 
For  a  brief  while  :  observe  and  keep 
Melodious  silence  during  sleep  ; 


POEMS    OF   FRIENDSHIP.  ?73 

And  then,  at  earliest  day-break, 
The  matin  song  of  worship  wake  : 
A  moment  pausing  to  confess 
In  meekness  its  unworthiness, 
Then  up  the  skyey  stairs  to  run 
Before  the  rising  of  the  sun  ; 
And  the  belated  stars  surprise 
With  the  bright  rapture  of  its  eyes  : 
And  pour  its  heart  of  fullness  out 
To  the  First  Fair  with  song  and  shout. 
Love  has  no  limits  :    by  this  sign 
Known  in  the  human  as  divine. 
All  dangers,  it  confronts  and  dares, 
All  deaths,  destructions,  and  despairs. 
How  freely  would  the  loving  Wife 
Throw  down  her  pennyworth  of  life, 
And  all  the  worthlessness  of  wealth. 
For  the  cheap  purchase  of  his  health, 
Who  is  her  all,  when  death  draws  near 
And  fills  her  heart  with  mortal  fear  ! 
What  Father  but  would  die  to  save 
His  Child  seen  struggling  in  the  wave  ! 
Th'  unmeasured  bounty  of  a  Friend 

Has  no  beginning  and  no  end  ! 
18 


2?4  POEMS    OF    FRIENDSHIP. 

The  Lover  rates  his  own,  far  less 
Than  the  Beloved  One's  happiness  ; 
Rather  than  she  should  suffer  woe 
He  e'en  possession  would  forego. 
For  Love  's  forgetfulness  of  mine, 
And  a  dear  preference  of  thine  ; 
A  free  bestowal  of  one's  self, 
Unpurchasable  by  sordid  pelf  ; 
Not  a  base  bargain  and  profane, 
Weighing  of  values,  hope  of  gain. 
All  things  are  sold  in  the  world's  mart, 
But  not  th'  unmarketable  heart. 

Honoria  yields  to  homely  Jane — 
"  Favor  's  deceitful,  beauty  vain  "- 
Love,  based  on  beauty,  cannot  last, 
Built  on  the  perishable  and  past. 
When  beauty  's  fled,  pray,  Mr.  Vaughan  ! 
Will  love  grow  cold  ?   will  you  love  on  ? 
Love,  built  on  the  immortal  grace, 
Which  is  not  of  the  form  or  face, 
But  born  of  God,  shall  have  in  both 
Eternal  increment  and  growth  : 
Or  fair  or  not,  'tis  all  the  same — 
"  Faithful  Forever,"  Frederick  Graham  ! 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 


DIES  IR^E.—  Three  Versions. 

ALL  SAVED. 

LUTHER'S  HYMN.— Original  and  Translation. 

WOMAN. — Newark  Orphan  Asylum 

STREAMLET    AND    POOL.—  Protestant  Foster  Home. 

ANNIVERSARY  HYMNS.   I.— IX.   " 

THE  APPEAL.—  Home  for  Aged  Women. 

DEDICATION  HYMNS,  ETC.     I.— XIII. 

MISSIONARY  HYMNS.     I.— XIV. 

ODE  TO  COLD  WATER. 

THE  LORD'S  PRAYER. 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 


DIES    I  R  JE  .     Additional  Versions.  * 

I. 

DAY  of  audit  and  decision, 
Fiery  wreck  and  world  collision, 
Witnessed  in  prophetic  vision  ! 

O,  what  trembling  the  world  over, 
When  the  coming  Judge  shall  hover, 
All  to  sift  and  all  discover. 

Trumpet-call  shall  shake  the  centre, 
Tombs  of  all  the  regions  enter, 
Rock  or  marble  no  preventer. 

Death  and  Nature  shall,  with  wonder, 
See  the  dead  arise  from  under, 
Answering  to  that  voice  of  thunder. 

*  The  extraordinary  number  of  Translations  of  the  Dies  Irce,  which  have  been 
made,  particularly  in  German  and  English,  one  might  suppose,  would  have 
exhausted,  before  now,  all  the  possibilities  of  variation.  The  difficulties  attendant 
upon  the  reproduction  of  the  triplicate  double  rhyme  have  served  as  a  perpetual 
challenge  to  the  skill  of  the  translator,  and  formed  no  bad  test  of  the  resources  of 
the  language  in  that  particular.  The  author,  having  already  published  Thirteen 
Original  Versions,  is  not  sure  but  that  he  owes  an  apology  to  the  public  for  adding 
to  the  number.  What  is  the  advantage,  it  may  be  asked,  of  such  a  multiplicity  of 
versions  ?  The  answer  would  need  to  be,  none,  except  as  it  may  afford  a  curious 

19 


278  MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 

Record,  to  be  blotted  never, 

Of  each  thought,  word,  deed,  endeavor, 

Shall  be  brought  to  doom  forever. 

When  the  Judge  shall  sit,  all  hidden, 
Guilty  mazes  shall  be  thridden, 
And  each  vain  pretense  o'erridden. 

Ah  !    what  plea  shall  I  then  offer? 
Patron  beg  ?    Defence  then  proffer  ? 
When  the  just  pales  with  the  scoffer. 

King  of  dreadful  power  and  splendor  ! 
Unbought  grace  me  freely  render, 
Fount  of  Love,  divinely  tender  ! 

Jesu,  mind  !  'twas  I  made  tougher 

Thy  hard  task,  Thy  rough  road  rougher, 

Nor  me  lose  who  made  Thee  suffer  ! 

and  not  uninstructive  illustration  of  the  many  ways  there  are  of  saying  the  same 
thing.  The  Three  New  Versions  here  given  (making' sixteen  in  all,  of  which  nine 
preserve  the  double  rhyme  of  the  original)  were  written  some  time  since,  but  not 
published  until  now.  The  first  of  the  three  is  distinguished  by  the  absence  of  the 
present  participle,  throughout,  in  the  formation  of  the  double  rhymes,  which  is  the 
common  and  rather  cheap  expedient  of  most  translators,  being  driven  thereto,  by 
the  paucity  of  these,  outside  of  participial  words.  The  experiment  in  variation 
could  be  pushed  no  doubt  still  further  without  injury  to  sense  or  form,  the  chief 
thing  needed  being  a  little  patient  painstaking  in  order  to  secure  a  proper  result. 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS.  279 

Tired,  Thou  sought'st  me,  for  me  smarted 
Cruel  wounds  Thy  dear  flesh  parted, 
Let  such  labor  not  be  thwarted  ! 

Righteous  Judge  !    forgive  my  treason, 
Grant  free  pardon,  ere  that  season 
Of  account  and  final  reason. 

Heavy  is  my  heart  and  leaden, 
Conscious  crimes  my  forehead  redden, 
Spare  me,  Lord  !    my  terrors  deaden  ! 

If  more  vile  than  ordinary, 

Thou  who  heard'st  the  Thief  and  Mary, 

Grant  me  succor  necessary  ! 

Though  my  prayers  have  worth  not  any, 
Great  Thy  mercies  are,  and  many, 
Let  me  burn  not  in  Gehenna  ! 

While  the  goats  affrighted  cower, 
With  Thy  sheep  O  let  me  tower 
On  the  right  hand  of  Thy  power  ! 


280  MISCELLA  NEOUS   POEMS. 

When,  "  Depart !  "  shall  seal  conviction, 
Doom  to  fiery  infliction, 
Welcome  me  with  benediction  ! 

When  my  bruised  heart  faintly  flutters, 
And  my  tongue  its  last  prayer  mutters, 
Hear  the  dying  sigh  it  utters  ! 

II. 

DAY  of  fiery  wrath  unsparing  ! 
End  of  all  things  here  declaring  ! 
David  thus  and  Sibyl  swearing  ! 

What  shall  be  the  consternation, 
When,  with  eyes  that  search  creation, 
Comes  the  Judge  for  strict  probation  ! 

Trumpet  summons  shall  be  given, 
And  the  quick  and  dead  be  driven 
All  before  the  Throne  of  Heaven. 

Death  and  Nature,  sympathizing, 
Stunned  shall  be,  at  the  surprising 
Spectacle  of  that  uprising. 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS.  281 

Record,  traced  by  the  All-seeing, 
Shall  be  spread,  for  the  decreeing 
Of  the  fate  of  every  being. 

Therefore,  when  the  Judge  is  seated, 
Guilt,  uncovered  and  defeated, 
Shall  have  vengeance  strictly  meted. 

Who  shall  stand  when  He  appeareth  ? 
Plead  or  answer  when  He  heareth  ? 
Or  so  righteous  but  then  feareth  ? 

Saviour !  free  Thy  mercy  courses, 
Uncontrolled  its  sweet  way  forces, 
Let  me  taste  it  at  its  sources. 

Lose  me  not  then,  Jesus  !  Master ! 
Cause  that  cost  Thee  dire  disaster, 
Woes  that  followed  fast  and  faster. 

Foot-sore,  Thou  didst  seek  me  straying, 
On  the  Cross  my  forfeit  paying, 
Let  not  fail  such  hard  essaying  ! 


282  MISCELLANEO  US   POEMS. 

Judge,  revealed  for  just  espial ! 
Give  not  to  my  prayer  denial, 
Pardon,  ere  that  day  of  trial  ! 

Groans  I  heave  of  bitter  feeling, 
Cheek  of  fire  my  shame  revealing, 
Spare  me,  at  Thy  footstool  kneeling  I 

Thou,  who  Mary  didst  unfetter, 
And  the  Thief  a  greater  debtor, 
Giv'st  me  hope  who  am  no  better. 

Naught  my  prayers,  but  O,  divinely 
Good  art  Thou,  so  deal  benignly, 
Lest  I  burn  for  aye  condignly  ! 

Place  be  with  Thy  sheep  afforded, 

Station  on  Thy  right  accorded, 

Far  from  goats  unwashed  and  sordid  ! 

Let  me,  while  these  sink  deploring, 
Where  profoundest  hell  is  roaring, 
Hear  Thy  heavenly  welcome  soaring  ! 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS.  283 

When  I  enter  death's  dark  portal, 
Feebly  beats  the  pulse  aortal, 
Care  then  for  my  soul  immortal  ! 

III. 

DAY  of  wrath  !    that  day  dismaying, 
All  the  world  in  ashes  laying, 
David  thus  and  Sibyl  saying  ! 

O  what  trembling  !    when,  down  gliding, 
Shall  the  Judge,  the  skies  dividing, 
Come  for  weighing  and  deciding  ! 

Voice  of  Trumpet  for  all  hearing, 
Through  the  sepulchres  careering, 
Shall  compel  a  world's  appearing. 

Death  and  Nature,  stunned  and  gasping, 
Shall,  a  broken  sceptre  grasping, 
Bide  miraculous  unclasping. 

Volume  shall  be  brought,  revealing 
Every  secret  thought  and  feeling, 
Fates  of  men  forever  sealing. 


284  MISCELLA  NEOUS   POEMS. 

When  that  Inquest  grand  commences, 
Open  and  concealed  offences 
Shall  endure  just  consequences. 

What  shall  I  then,  wretched,  squalid, 
Say  or  ask  ?  What  plea  make  valid  ? 
When  the  just  man's  cheek  is  pallid. 

Formidable  King  Eternal  ! 

Fount  of  Love  and  Grace  supernal ! 

Save  Thou  me  from  pains  infernal ! 

Lose  me  not — the  cause  recalling 
Of  Thy  bitter  way  and  galling — 
Jesus,  on  that  day  appalling  ! 

Me  Thou  sought'st  with  feet  untiring, 
On  the  Cross  for  me  expiring, 
Let  not  fail  such  dear  desiring. 

Thou,  whose  right  hand  grasps  the  thunder 
Give  me  timely  refuge,  under 
Sheltering  wings  of  grace  and  wonder  ! 


MISCELLANEO  US    P  OEMS.  285 

Self-condemned,  I  cease  not  sighing, 
Guilt  my  face  with  blushes  dyeing, 
Spare  me,  on  Thy  grace  relying  ! 

Thou,  who  hast,  aforetime,  granted 

To  the  vile  the  pardon  wanted, 

In  me  trembling  hope  hast  planted. 

Gracious  Lord  !  my  frail  endeavor 
Kindly  aid,  from  sin  me  sever, 
Lest  I  burn  in  fire  forever  ! 

Let  me,  when  the  skies  are  rifted, 
And  the  sheep  from  goats  are  sifted, 
Be  to  thy  right  hand  uplifted  ! 

While  Gehenna  is  receiving 

Those,  who  hope  behind  are  leaving, 

Give  me  part  with  the  believing  ! 

Prostrate,  I  beseech  Thee,  hear  me  ! 
In  my  dying  hour  be  near  me, 
Present  to  support  and  cheer  me  ! 


286  MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 


ALL    SAVED* 

At  twilight's  solemn  hour,  how  sweet 

In  the  lone  churchyard  still  to  linger  ; 
Where  from  each  grave  beneath  our  feet, 

There  comes  a  voice,  there  points  a  finger  ; 
And  think  how  here,  o'er  precious  dust, 

Angelic  bands  their  watch  are  keeping, 
A  sacred  and  perpetual  trust, 

Till  the  Last  Trump  shall  wake  from  sleeping ; 
And  all  the  dead  in  Christ  shall  rise, 

With  bodies  incorrupt  and  glorious, 
To  view  Heaven  oped,  with  dazzled  eyes, 

O'er  sin  and  death  and  hell  victorious — 
Made  radiant,  like  those  radiant  ones 

Whose  awful  pomp  their  souls  is  thrilling, 
As  if  the  light  of  thousand  suns, 

The  heavenly  firmament  were  filling. 
Amid  those  conscious  orbs  of  light, 

One  Central  Orb  the  rest  is  dimming, 
Their  proper  splendors  lost  to  sight 

In  those  in  which  themselves  are  swimming  ; 

*  Suggested  by  a  Picture  representing  the  Resurrection  of  a  Pious  Family. 


MISCELLANEO  US   POEMS.  287 

The  beams  of  Filial  Godhead,  spread 

O'er  that  bright  host  exceeding  number, 
On  those  same  eye-balls,  lo  !  are  shed, 

So  lately  dark  in  mortal  slumber.     . 
O  !  for  a  pen  of  noblest  art, 

To  match  the  pencil's  warm  ideal  ; 
That  late  was  to  my  eyes  and  heart, 

As  if  the  pictured  scene  were  real, — 
A  Pious  Family  portrayed, 

Their  dusty  beds  together  leaving  ; 
In  their  first  rapture  half  afraid, 

Lest  they  themselves  might  be  deceiving. 

"  O,  can  it  be?" — each  seemed  to  say — 
"  Is  this  for  me,  a  child  of  clay  ? 

Have  I  propriety  in  this 

Unuttered,  unimagined  bliss  ? 

Despite  of  unbelief  and  fear, 

O,  am  I  safe  ?  O,  am  I  here  ? 

Praise  !  praise,  forever  !  has  none  perished 

Of  those  we  loved,  so  fondly  cherished  ? 

Are  we  all  here,  both  young  and  old, 

All  gathered  in  the  heavenly  fold — 

A  happy  family  complete, 

To  part  no  more,  since  now  we  meet  ? 


288  MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 

"  O,  what  amazing  grace  ! 
We  who  inhabited  the  grave's  dark  prison, 
Behold  !  to  immortality  are  risen, 

With  no  remaining  trace 
Of  old  defilement  and  preceding  shame — 
So  strangely  different,  and  yet  the  same. 

"  See  !  see  !  the  Heaven's  are  bowed  ! 
Above  all  principalities  and  powers 
Sits  our  Deliverer,  their  Lord  and  ours  ; 

And  voices  sweet  and  loud, 
Like  mighty  thunderings,  and  like  the  sound 
Of  many  waters,  echo  all  around. 

"We  see  Him  as  He  is, 
Incomparable  in  beauty.     O  how  strange  ! 
From  glory  unto  glory  we  shall  change 

Henceforth,  until,  like  His, 

Shall  be  the  fashion  of  each  form  and  feature — 
The  great  Creator  mirrored  in  the  creature. 

"  Hark  !  Cherub  voices  say, 

'Lift  up  your  heads,  ye  gates  !  lift  up,  swing  wide, 
Ye  everlasting  doors  !  that,  side  by  side 

With  Heaven's  great  Monarch,  they 


MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS.  289 

Whom  He  has  ransomed,  now  may  enter  in — 
His  blood-bought  purchase,  purified  from  sin.' 

"  Adore  !  adore  !  adore  ! 

We  swiftly  rise,  upborne  on  mighty  pinions, 
Through  the  immensity  of  God's  dominions, 

We  touch,  we  tread  Heaven's  floor  ; 
With  hallelujahs,  psalms,  and  hymns  of  laud, 
We  prostrate  fall  before  the  Throne  of  God. 

"  From  lips  that  ever  burn, 
Ascends  glad  praise  from  the  angelic  choir ; 
But  there  are  sounds  struck  from  the  Saint's  soft  lyre 

Which  none  but  they  can  learn — 
The  sweet,  strange  pathos  of  whose  warbled  hymn 
Doth  ravish  more  than  song  of  Seraphim. 

"  Unending  is  this  bliss. 
The  pillared  firmament  and  all  the  spheres 
May  sink,  perchance,  in  the  long  lapse  of  years, 

Swallowed  in  Night's  abyss — 
But  to  the  dwellers  in  Eternity, 
A  thousand  years  shall  as  a  moment  be." 

JUNE  16,  i84y. 


290  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

LUTHER'S    HYMN.* 

ORIGINAL. 

EIN'  feste  Burg  ist  unser  Gott, 
Ein'  gute  Wehr  und  Waffen  ; 
Er  hilft  uns  frey  aus  aller  Noth, 
Die  uns  jetz  hat  betroffen. 
Der  alt'  bose  Feind 
Mit  Ernst  ers  jetz  meint ; 
Gross  Macht  und  viel  List 
Sein  grausam  Riistung  ist 
Auf  Erd  ist  nicht  sein's  Gleichen. 

Mit  unsrer  Macht  ist  Nichts  gethan. 
Wir  sind  gar  bald  verloren  ; 
Es  streit't  fiir  uns  der  rechte  Mann, 
Den  Gott  selbst  hat  erkoren. 

Fragst  du,  wer  er  ist  ? 

Er  heisst  Jesus  Christ, 

*  Luther's  paraphrase  of  the  Forty-sixth  Psalm,  more  remarkable  for  strength 
than  melody,  is  eminently  characteristic  of  one  "  whose  words  were  half  battles." 
Written  in  a  time  of  the  darkest  peril,  it  breathes  the  same  spirit  of  lofty  courage 
and  unshaken  confidence  in  God,  which  prompted  that  memorable  declaration  of 
his,  when  dissuaded  from  entering  Worms:  "  Were  there  as  many  devils  in  Worms 
as  there  are  tiles  on  its  roofs,  I  will  enter  ;"  or  that  other  one,  still  more  memora 
ble,  "  It  is  neither  safe  nor  prudent  to  do  aught  against  conscience.  Here  I  stand. 
I  cannot  do  otherwise.  God  help  me.  Amen  !"  Like  Paul,  he  could  say,  "  None 
of  these  things  move  me." 


MISC ELLA  NEO  US  P  OEMS.  291 

LUTHER'S    HYMN. 

TRANSLATION. 

A  FAST,  firm  fortress  is  our  God, 
A  right  good  ward  and  weapon  ; 
He  frees  us  with  his  helping  rod 
From  all  the  ills  that  happen. 
The  ancient  hellish  foe 
In  earnest  means  our  woe  ; 
His  armor,  cruel  spite, 
Much  cunning  and  great  might, 
On  earth  is  not  his  equal. 

By  our  own  might  is  nothing  done, 

We  quickly  were  defeated  ; 
He  fights  for  us,  God's  Chosen  One, 
The  right  Man,  highly  seated. 
Who  is  He  ?  dost  thou  seek  ? 
Of  Jesus  Christ,  we  speak, 


Despite  its  ruggedness,  this,  by  common  consent,  is  regarded  as  the  best  of  his 
Hymns.  The  merits  of  Luther's  poetry,  like  his  prose,  consist  not  in  the  pretti- 
ness  of  its  diction  nor  the  melody  of  its  flow,  but  its  homely  vigor  and  coarse 
strength.  The  bristling  asperities  of  his  words,  like  burrs,  cause  them  to  stick, 
so  that  the  mind  cannot  rid  itself  of  them  even  if  it  would.  If  the  original  be 
deficient  in  musical  smoothness,  the  want  of  this  is  more  than  excusable  in  a 
version  which  aims  to  produce  a  literal  likeness.  It  could  hardly  be  faithful  and 
not  be  rough. 


292  MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS. 

Der  Herr  Zebaoth, 
Und  1st  kein  andrer  Gott ; 
Das  Feld  muss  er  behalten  ! 

Und  wenn  die  Welt  voll  Teufel  war 
Und  wollt  uns  gar  verschlingen, 
So  fiirchten  wir  uns  nicht  so  sehr 
Es  soil  uns  doch  gelingen  ! 
Der  Fiirst  dieser  Welt, 
Wie  sau'r  er  sich  stellt 
Thut  er  uns  doch  Nichts  ; 
Das  macht,  er  ist  gericht't ; 
Ein  Wortlein  kann  ihn  fallen. 

Das  Wort  sie  sollen  lassen  stahn 
Und  kein'n  Dank  dazu  haben  ! 
Er  ist  bey  uns,  auf  unser  Fleh'n 
Mit  seinem  Geist  und  Gaben. 
Nehm'n  sie  uns  den  Leib 
Gut',  Ehr',  Kind  und  Weib 
Lass  fahren  dahin 
Sie  habens  kein'n  Gewinn  ! 
Das  Reich  muss  uns  doch  bleiben  ! 


MISCELLANEOUS   POEM S,  293 

Lord  of  Sabaoth,  One 
God,  other  God  there's  none, 
The  field,  He  needs  must  hold  it. 

And-were  the  earth  of  devils  full, 

All  eager  us  to  swallow, 
No  coward  fears  should  backward  pull, 
He'll  make  success  still  follow. 

Let  this  world's  Prince  look  sour, 
He  o'er  us  has  no  power 
By  which  we  can  be  budged, 
He  is  already  judged, 
One  word  can  hurl  him  headlong. 

The  Word  of  God  they  shall  let  stand, 

And  no  thanks  have  they  for  it ; 
His  Spirit's  aid  is  near  at  hand, 
To  all  who  shall  implore  it. 
Take  they  from  us  life, 
Goods,  fame,  child,  and  wife — 
Let  them  !  when  'tis  done, 
They  will  have  nothing  won 
God's  kingdom  must  be  left  us. 

1853- 
20 


294  MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 


WOMAN.* 

STRONG  is  my  trust  in  Woman  :  in  the  might 
Of  her  serene  and  sweet  sufficiency, 
Meeting  each  task  and  trial  God  appoints. 
On  the  horizon  of  man's  destiny, 
Her  love  rose  like  a  star  to  guide  and  cheer, 
Through  his  long  night  of  sorrow  here  below. 
O,  not  in  vain  did  the  Creator  pour, 
Through  all  her  being's  depths,  so  great  a  love, 
Lavish  of  highest  gifts,  affections  infinite. 
From  this  grand  source,  this  multiplying  fount, 
Has  flowed  that  river,  flowing  through  all  time — 
Over  the  parched  and  melancholy  waste 
Of  lapsed  humanity,  pursuing  still 
Interminable  meanderings,  like  that  stream 
Which  followed  Israel  in  the  wilderness — 
Whence  all  the  blessed  charities  of  life  ; 
The  bloom,  and  beauty,  and  the  bliss  of  earth  ; 
All  those  refreshing  foretastes  of  supreme 
Immortal  satisfactions  found  in  home. 

*  Dedicated  to  the  Ladies  of  the  Newark  Orphan  Asylum. 


MISCELLANEO  US    POEMS.  295 

True  to  the  native  instincts  of  her  heart, 
She  weeps  with  those  that  weep.     Around  the  couch 
Of  sickness,  waits  and  watches  without  rest, 
A  weary  while,  supporting,  O  how  tenderly ! 
With  hands  how  soft  beneath  the  aching  head  ! 
Applying  still  the  lenitives  of  pain, 
While  ever  and  anon  she  upward  looks 
In  silent  supplication  heard  in  heaven. 

Sustaining  various  names,  see,  where  she  moves, 
Light  of  the  household  !  sister,  daughter,  wife, 
Or  mother,  it  may  be,  on  whose  soft  breast, 
Safe  sheltered  once  we  lay  in  infancy, 
Listening  the  beatings  of  that  heart  which  felt 
The  mighty  hunger  of  a  great  desire, 
Longings  unutterable — expressed  in  tears, 
Dumb  show  of  loving  looks,  and  kisses  sweet, 
Or  with  clasped  hands  upraised  in  prayer — 
For  her  babe's  happiness  in  future  years. 

Ah  me  !  how  dire  the  change,  when  wintry  death 
Freezes  the  fountain,  whence  the  nursling  draws 
Its  sustenance,  and  quenches  the  dear  flame 
That  warmed  it  into  being.     Sad  thy  lot, 


296  MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS. 

Poor  helpless  innocent !  cast  out  to  bide 
Th'  uncertain  charity  of  stranger-hands  ; 
Oft-times  to  pine  and  perish  ;  nevermore 
To  feel  the  pressure  of  a  mother's  lips, 
Or  greet  the  sunshine  of  her  smiling  eyes, 
Or  hear  the  heavenly  music  of  her  voice 
Beside  the  cradle  singing  thee  to  rest. 

He,  who  provides  for  ravens  when  they  cry, 
Has  ears  to  hear  the  sad  and  piteous  wail 
Of  desolate  orphanage,  and  sends  swift  help, 
Fanning  the  fires  of  Christian  love  and  zeal, 
Where  they  burn  purest,  deep  in  Woman's  breast. 

Under  those  heavenly  promptings,  lo  !  she  founds 
Asylums  ;  gathers  lorn  and  friendless  ones  ; 
With  affluence  of  sympathy,  dries  up 
The  falling  tear,  and  ministers  relief. 
Ye  mothers  of  the  motherless  !  your  work  of  love 
Shall  not  go  unrewarded.     Even  now, 
Seeing  the  blessed  fruit  of  pious  toil, 
Have  ye  not  ample  recompense  ?     Go  on, 
Guiding,  as  heretofore,  your  little  flock 
To  greenest  pastures,  feeding  them  with  words 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS.  297 

Of  heavenly  truth  and  wisdom,  making  wise 

Unto  salvation,  till  you  hear,  at  length, 

Out  of  the  mouths  of  babes  and  sucklings,  sung 

Perfected  praise  to  your  Redeemer!    These  thus  turned 

To  righteousness,  shall  in  the  firmament 

Of  glory  shine,  as  star-writ  characters, 

To  endless  ages  publishing  your  fame — 

Vicegerents  here  of  God's  beneficence, 

Dispensers  of  His  grace  to  deathless  souls, 

DECEMBER  18,  1857. 


STREAMLET    AND    POOL. 

FAR  away,  in  yonder  hill, 
See  that  little  silver  Rill, 
With  its  tinkling,  twinkling  feet, 
Tripping  onward,  fair  as  fleet, 
Happy  as  the  day  is  long, 
Humming  to  itself  a  song, 


298  MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 

While  it  hastens  to  deliver 
Its  small  tribute  to  the  River  ! 

Soon  a  stagnant  Pool  it  passes, 
Which  the  Streamlet  thus  addresses  : 
"Whither  Streamlet,  are  you  going?" 
"I  am  to  the  River  flowing, 
There  the  water  of  my  cup, 
Which  God  gave,  to  render  up." 
"  Ah  !"  exclaims  the  sordid  Pool, 
"  You're  a  thoughtless,  spendthrift  fool ; 
Ere  summer's  gone,  that  cup  you'll  want, 
Remember  spring-rains  have  been  scant." 
"Well,"  said  the  Rill,  as  on  it  ran, 
"  I'll  do,  meanwhile,  the  good  I  can  ; 
If  I  am  destined  soon  to  die, 
It  forms  another  reason,  why 
My  moments  should  not  run  to  waste, 
Why  I  should  make  the  greater  haste." 
The  Pool  smiled  infinite  disdain, 
And  strove  to  husband  and  retain 
Each  drop  of  water  gathered  there, 
Deeming  it  had  not  one  to  spare. 


MISCELLA  NEO  US  POEMS.  299 

Ere  long  mid-summer's  ardent  heat 
Upon  the  Rill  began  to  beat  ; 
But  trees,  whose  roots  it  watered,  spread 
Their  sheltering  branches  overhead, 
Through  which  the  friendly  sunshine  smiled, 
Tempering  its  fierceness  to  the  Child. 
The  birds  came  there  to  sip  and  sing ; 
The  flowers  hard  by  were  seen  to  spring, 
Shedding  their  odors  ;  near  its  banks 
Stood  grateful  cattle,  looking  thanks  ; 
The  husbandman's  delighted  gaze 
Pursued  the  wandering  watery  maze, 
Through  fields  and  meadows,  clearly  seen, 
Traced  by  a  line  of  fresher  green  : 
Blessing  and  blessed  of  all,  it  glides 
Thither  where'er  its  Maker  guides. 

What  of  the  prudent  Pool,  left  yonder, 
So  close  and  miserly,  I  wonder  ? 
Alas  !  this  stagnant  grew,  meanwhile, 
More  pestilential,  and  more  vile. 
The  thirsty  cattle,  sometimes,  used 
To  stoop  to  drink,  then  straight  refused  ; 


300  MISCELLA  NEOUS  POEMS. 

The  vagrant  breeze,  its  way  once  missed, 

And,  by  mistake,  its  surface  kissed, 

But  shuddering,  chilled,  and  sick,  and  faint, 

It  shrunk  away,  but  caught  the  taint, 

And  to  the  people  living  near, 

Bore  mortal  agues  ;    struck  with  fear, 

The  dwellers  all  the  region  quit ; 

The  very  frogs  their  venom  spit, 

And  fled  the  green  and  loathsome  curse, 

That  day  by  day  grew  worse  and  worse, 

Till  Heaven,  in  love,  with  hotter  breath 

Smote  it,  and  dried  this  source  of  death. 

But  did  the  Rill  itself  exhaust  ? 
O,  no  !    not  so,  it  was  not  lost, 
E'en  when  its  cup  it  emptied  free, 
And  the  Flood  bore  it  to  the  Sea. 
The  Sea  received  it,  and  the  while, 
In  answer  to  the  Sun's  warm  smile, 
Sent  vapory  incense  up  to  form 
The  Clouds,  the  Chariots  of  the  Storm  : 
The  courser  Winds,  these  wait  to  bear 
Far  distant  to  yon  mountain,  where 
Is  found  the  Streamlet's  fountain-head, 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS.  301 

And  there  the  watery  blessing's  shed. 
The  cup  it  gave,  it  does  not  lack, 
For  lo  !    the  same  comes  brimming  back  ; 
Though  always  giving,  full  supplies 
Again  come  pouring  from  the  skies  ; 
Though  constant  in  its  generous  course, 
Heaven-fed,  it  fails  not  at  its  source. 

What  is  the  moral,  reader,  say? 
'Tis  obvious  as  the  light  of  day  : 
It  is  to  give,  and  not  to  hoard. 
As  reads  the  Evangel  of  the  Lord, 
Give,  and  to  you,  too,  shall  be  given  ! 
Free  be  your  gifts,  as  those  of  Heaven  ! 
Give,  and  from  giving  never  cease  ! 
To  give  is  often  to  increase  ; 
While  giving  naught,  or  niggardly, 
Directly  tends  to  poverty. 


[The  above  improvised  versification  of  the  Streamlet  and  Pool  originally  ap 
peared  in  the  Annual  Report  of  the  Newark  Protestant  Foster  Home  for  1854 ; 
and  the  Anniversary  Hymns  which  follow,  written  by  request  for  the  use  of  the 
Children,  were  published  from  year  to  year  in  connection  with  the  Reports  of  the 
Society.] 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 


ANNIVERSARY    HYMNS* 
I. 

THOU  God  of  Love  !  Thy  glories  bright 
The  universe  adorn  ; 
We  see  Thee  in  the  stars  of  night, 
The  splendors  of  the  morn. 

From  east  to  west,  from  south  to  north, 

Thou  dost  in  all  appear  ; 
But  art  supremely  shadowed  forth 

In  Charity  sincere. 

Sweet  Charity,  divinest  grace 

Inclusive  of  the  rest, 
Pictures  Thine  image  in  the  face, 

And  glorifies  the  breast. 

Since  it  was  this  once  caused  to  bleed 

Incarnate  Deity, 
To  minister  to  suffering  need, 

Is  to  resemble  Thee. 

*  Sung  by  the  Children  of  the  "  Protestant  Foster  Home." 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  303 

To  be  the  channels  of  Thy  love, 

Thine  almoners  of  good, 
When  gifts  descending  from  above 

Incite  to  gratitude, 

Is  highest  honor,  highest  bliss — 

And  such  do  they  secure 
Whose  pious  hands  have  founded  this 

Asylum  for  the  poor  ; 

Where  find  relief,  those  early  brought 

Beneath  affliction's  rod  ; 
And  helpless  orphanage  is  taught 

The  fatherhood  of  God. 

Thou  wilt  reward  those  seeking  none, 

And  make  them  wond'ring  see 
That  what  they  to  the  least  have  done 

Was  done  alike  to  Thee. 

1851. 


3°4  MISCELLANEO  US  POEMS. 


II. 


hours  and  days,  that  flee  so  fast, 
-L      Have  brought  another  season  round  ; 
Ah  !   since  we  here  assembled  last, 
How  many  sleep  beneath  the  ground  ! 

We  live — of  all  our  little  band 

Not  one  hath  felt  Death's  icy  touch  ; 

Meet  is  it  then,  we  bless  Thy  hand, 
O  God  !    to  whom  we  owe  so  much. 

Each  night  we  laid  us  down  and  slept, 
Serenely  pillowed  on  Thy  breast ; 

And  in  Thy  safe  embrace  were  kept 
Through  all  the  hours  of  peaceful  rest. 

Then  when  the  pleasant  morning  broke, 
And  filled  the  world  with  welcome  light, 

We  from  refreshing  slumber  woke, 
To  be  Thy  tender  care  till  night. 


MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS.  305 

No  moment  of  the  year,  but  brought 

Some  blessing  on  its  rapid  wings, 
And  seasons,  with  their  changes,  wrought 

To  crown  our  lives  with  needful  things. 

O  how  unlike  our  former  lot  ! 

This  smiling  HOME,  with  friends  so  kind, 
And  truth  to  consecrate  the  spot, 

And  banish  darkness  from  the  mind. 

O  fruit  of  pious  toil  and  pain  ! 

O  love,  whose  root  shall  ne'er  decay  ! 
Your  powerful  fragrance  shall  remain, 

When  ages  shall  have  passed  away. 

O'er  proudest  deeds  shall  darkness  roll ; 

But  every  action  done  in  Time, 
To  benefit  a  human  soul, 

Shall  grow  forever  more  sublime. 

1852. 


306  MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS. 


III. 

come,  O  God,  with  swelling  hearts, 
And  eyelids  filled  with  grateful  tears, 
To  sing  Thy  love  which  ne'er  departs, 
Nor  changes  through  successive  years. 

Our  days  glide  on  in  constant  peace, 
While  gen'rous  hands  the  means  afford 

To  train  us  up  to  make  increase 
In  the  dear  knowledge  of  the  Lord. 

The  shadow  of  that  dread  eclipse, 
Which  darken'd  all  our  former  days, 

Thou  hast  withdrawn,  and  tuned  our  lips 
To  warble  melodies  of  praise. 

Sweet  promises  of  heavenly  joy 

We  learn  to  speak  with  infant  breath, 

And  prize  the  grace  that  can  destroy 
The  sting  and  bitterness  of  death. 

1853. 


MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS.  307 

IV. 

A     BEAUTIFUL  and  happy  HOME, 
-J-A_     Enough  of  raiment,  food  and  fire, 
The  light  of  life  upon  our  path, 

O  God,  what  more  could  we  desire  ! 

How  quietly  we  sleep  at  night ! 

What  peace  the  radiant  morning  brings  ! 
Contented  with  our  humble  lot, 

We  need  not  envy  that  of  kings. 

The  fields  look  green  and  glad  for  us  ; 

The  sweet  stars  nightly  bless  our  eyes  ; 
The  day's  first  kiss  and  last,  we  share, 

Its  golden  pomp  and  purple  dyes. 

The  gentle  zephyrs  bring  and  breathe 

Delicious  perfumes  from  the  flowers 
Of  rich  men's  gardens,  far  and  near, 

Whose  sweets  are  theirs  no  more  than  ours. 

How  vast,  O  God,  the  thanks  we  owe  ! 

Thy  overflowing  goodness  such, 
WTe  scarcely  dare  to  ask  for  more — 

We  have  not  merited  so  much. 

1854. 


308  MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS. 

V. 

OD  of  all,  above  and  under, 

God  of  angels  and  of  men  ! 
All  things  praise  Thee,  Thine  the  Thunder 

And  the  echoing  Hills,  Amen  ! 
Thine  the  worship  of  the  Mountains  ; 

Thine  the  homage  of  the  Plain  ; 
Thine  the  singing  of  the  Fountains  ; 
Thine  the  chorus  of  the  Main. 

Now  while  Heaven  and  Earth  rejoices, 

God  of  heat,  and  God  of  cold  ! 
With  the  Tempest  tune  our  voices, 

Hymning  mercies  new  and  old  : 
We  would  praise  Thee,  praise  is  comely, 

And  an  ever  new  delight  ; 
Lay  our  offerings,  mean  and  homely, 

On  Thine  altar  morn  and  night. 

Sounding  sweetly  down  the  ages, 
Thy  forgiving  voice  is  heard, 

Coming  from  the  open  pages 
Of  the  Volume  of  Thy  Word  : 


MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS. 

For  Thy  love  which  changeth  never, 
For  Thy  mercy  to  the  race, 

Blessed  be  Thy  name  forever, 
God  of  truth,  and  God  of  grace  ! 


3°9 


VI. 

WE  praise,  we  magnify,  O  Lord  ! 
As  little  children  can, 

That  wondrous  love  which  brought  Thee  down 
To  die  for  sinful  man. 

While  here  on  earth,  Thou  didst  not  frown, 

And  bid  them  to  depart, 
When  mothers  brought  their  children  near, 

But  took  them  to  Thy  heart. 

Encouraged  by  Thy  voice  and  smile, 

We  toward  Thy  bosom  press  ; 
O,  lay  Thy  hands  upon  our  heads, 

And  mercifully  bless  ! 

Help  us  to  sing,  dear  Lord  !  we  feel 

That  silence  would  be  wrong, 
Now  every  bird,  with  rapture  stirred, 

Is  praising  Thee  in  song. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 


VII. 

r  I  ^HERE  is  an  Eye,  behind  the  sky, 
-L      That  looks  on  me  alway  ; 
There  is  an  Ear,  to  my  lips  near, 
Let  me  be  where  I  may. 

That  Eye  doth  mark,  what  in  the  dark 

I  secretly  contrive  ; 
That  Ear  takes  in  each  word  of  sin 

Of  every  child  alive. 

The  act  unclean,  by  that  Eye  seen, 

May  never  be  forgiven  ; 
The  shameful  word,  by  that  Ear  heard, 

May  bar  the  gates  of  heaven. 

Let  me  beware,  then,  how  I  dare, 

At  any  time  or  place, 
Blaspheme  and  lie,  with  God  so  nigh, 

And  sin  before  His  face. 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 


VIII. 

~T~T7~HO  made  this  beauteous  world  ? 

Who  clothed  with  flowers  the  sod  ? 
Bedecked  the  firmament  with  stars  ? 
Jesus,  the  Son  of  God. 

Who  came  from  heaven  to  earth  ? 

Alone,  the  wine-press  trod 
To  save  our  guilty  souls  from  death  ? 

Jesus,  the  Son  of  God. 

^^ 

Who  sends  the  Spirit  down, 

And  sheds  His  love  abroad 
In  mortal  hearts  to  make  them  His  ? 

Jesus,  the  Son  of  God. 

Who  shall  the  fates  of  men 

Determine  by  His  nod, 
Exalt  to  heaven,  or  sink  to  hell  ? 

Jesus,  the  Son  of  God. 


312  "MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS. 

Who  little  children  bade 
To  come  to  Him,  unawed  ? 

Embraced  and  blessed  them  one  by  one? 
Jesus,  the  Son  of  God. 

Let  men  and  angels  sing, 

And  infant  voices  laud 
Him,  Maker,  Saviour,  Quickener,  Judge, 

Jesus,  the  Son  of  God. 


THE    APPEAL.* 

IN  Spring,  the  trees  put  forth, 
And  all  is  bud  and  bloom  ; 
And  youthful  hearts  can  scarcely  make 
For  joy  sufficient  room. 

The  glory  of  the  sun 

Makes  Summer  in  the  grove  ; 
And  manhood's  pulse  beats  high  and  strong 

With  happiness  and  love. 

*  Made  in  behalf  of  the  "  Home  for  Aged  Women." 


MISCELLA  NEO  US   POEMS.  313 

When,  afterwards,  succeeds 

The  ripeness  of  the  Fall  ; 
The  gathered  fruit  that  fills  the  barns 

Makes  glad  the  hearts  of  all. 

O  weary  hearts  and  old, 

That  soon  shall  be  at  rest  ! 
What  power  can  warm  the  frost  of  age 

And  Winter  of  the  breast  ! 

The  softest  breeze  that  blew 

Once  fluttered  all  your  leaves  ; 
But  now  among  your  leafless  boughs 

The  piercing  north-wind  grieves. 

To  be  both  poor  and  old, 

What  lot  can  be  more  hard  ? 
O  Christian  Pity  !  lend  your  aid, 

And  Heaven  shall  you  reward. 


3*4  MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS. 


DEDICATION    HYMNS,    ETC. 


LO  !  everywhere  through  boundless  space 
Thy  being  spreads,  yet,  if  Thou  wilt, 
Thou,  Lord  !  canst  enter  here,  and  grace 
This  House  our  feeble  hands  have  built. 

O  vast,  O  everliving  Mind  ! 

A  thousand  years  are  naught  to  Thee, 
Yet  Thou,  the  Eternal  One,  dost  find 

In  moments  room  enough  to  be. 

Most  sacred,  solemn,  and  sublime 
The  favored  spot  and  season,  when 

Thou,  gathered  from  all  space  and  time, 
Dost  condescend  to  dwell  with  men. 

The  covering  heavens  sweet  influence  shed, 
And  souls  are  glad  like  those  above, 

While  softly  floats  o'er  every  head 
The  streaming  banner  of  Thy  love. 

*  Sung  at  the  Dedication  of  the  Central  Presbyterian  Church,  Newark,  N.  J. 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS.  315 

O,  it  is  comely  and  thrice  fit, 

That  praise  should  be  our  one  employ, 

While  at  this  board  of  grace  we  sit, 
Clothed  in  the  radiant  vest  of  joy. 

Be  harps  to  hallelujah  set ! 

And  voices  tuned  to  hymns  of  laud 
And  soaring  harmonies,  and  let 

The  diapason  close  in  God  ! 


II. 


build,  Great  God  !  to  Thee 
Is  far  beyond  our  powers  ; 
The  heaven  of  heavens  Thy  temple  is, 
And  wilt  Thou  stoop  to  ours  ? 

Dear  Lord  !  Thou  wilt,  and  take 
More  pleasure  in  its  stones, 

Than  all  the  pride  of  palaces, 
And  vanity  of  thrones. 

*  Sung  at  the  Dedication  of  the  First  Baptist  Church  of  Newark,  N.  J. 


316  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

Upon  its  walls  and  towers, 
.    Upon  its  roof  and  floor, 
O'er  all  its  gates  wilt  write  Thy  name, 
To  magnify  it  more. 

Where  only  two  are  met, 
Thyself,  the  Glorious  Third, 

With  stately  steppings  in  their  midst, 
Wilt  verify  Thy  word. 

O,  bow  the  heavens  to-day, 
Hosannas  shall  Thee  greet  ! 

These  courts  the  consecration  wait 
Of  Thy  descending  feet. 

III. 

/'"CHOSEN  and  chief  and  consecrate, 
\J     O  Corner  Stone  !    fulfill  the  fate 
Ordained  for  Thee  before  the  birth 
And  genesis  of  heaven  and  earth. 

To  this  high  honor  God  exalts, 
Because  His  purpose  never  halts  ; 
Nor  are  Thy  claims,  august  and  proud, 
E'en  by  the  builders  disallowed. 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS.  317 

Leap,  then,  to  Thine  appointed  place, 
Here  in  this  rising  Temple's  base, 
That  long  its  sacred  walls  may  stand 
Established,  beautiful  and  grand  ! 

O  Thou,  who  art  that  Living  Stone, 
Elect  and  precious  and  alone, 
In  Zion  laid  !  grant  we  may  be 
Built  up  a  Spiritual  House  in  Thee. 


IV.* 

DIVINE,  Eternal  Word,  - 
Who  makest  sucklings  wise  ! 
The  Alphabet  of  heavenly  lore  ! 
The  Primer  of  the  skies  ! 


Our  Letters  thus  to  be, 

Thou  didst  from  heaven  descend, 

Alpha,  Omega,  First  and  Last, 
Beginning  and  the  End  ! 

*Sung  at  the  Laying  of  the  Corner-stone  of  the  Pcddie  Institute,  Hightstown,  N.  J. 


MISCELLANEO  U  S   POEMS. 

Like  children  we  would  sit, 

Jesus,  at  Thy  dear  feet, 
And  learn  of  Thee  the  rudiments, 

So  simple  and  so  sweet. 

Thou,  Christ,  art  very  God  ! 

Once  taught  Thy  name  to  spell, 
Delighted  we  decipher  it 

On  all  Thy  works  as  well. 

In  Thee,  in  Thee,  we  find 

The  key  that  all  unlocks  ; 
The  science  of  the  starry  heavens, 

The  writing  on  the  rocks. 

To-day,  we  consecrate, 

To  make  Thy  name  adored, 
A  chosen  plot  of  ground  to  be 

A  garden  of  the  Lord. 

Let  every  noxious  weed, 

Be  trodden  under  foot ! 
That,  when  Thou  comest,  Thou  may'st  find 

Here  only  wholesome  fruit. 


MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS.  319 

To  Thee,  the  Corner  Stone 

We  lay,  we  build  the  Wall, 
And  when  it  ceases  to  be  Thine, 

Then  let  the  Building  fall ! 

V.* 

OTHOU  who  art  enthroned  above  ! 
Thy  purposes  of  grace  and  love, 
With  sure  and  never  pausing  feet, 
The  rolling  centuries  complete. 

Each  moment  of  the  passing  hour 
Is  full  of  majesty  and  power, 
And  executes  Thy  high  behests 
As  on  Eternity  it  rests. 

Thou  on  this  mountain-top  didst  cast 
Of  corn  a  handful,  in  the  past, 
And  now  hast  made,  by  rain  and  sun, 
Its  fruit  to  shake  like  Lebanon. 

To-day,  'tis  meet  that  we  record 
And  sing  the  goodness  of  the  Lord  ; 

*Sung  at  the  Quarto-Centennial   Anniversary  of  the  Fifth  Baptist  Church, 
Newark,  N.  J. 


320  MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 

Be  this  the  burden  of  our  song, 

Thou  out  of  weakness  hast  made  strong. 

For  published  grace,  for  souls  renewed, 
We  owe  eternal  gratitude  : 
Thy  praise  shall  here  employ  our  breath, 
And  on  beyond  the  gates  of  death. 
MARCH  26,  1880. 

VI.* 

A  LL  generations,  God  of  grace, 
-^_JL_     Have  had  in  Thee  their  dwelling-place  ! 
For  backward  view  how  sweet  to  climb 
The  towering  Pisgah  of  our  time. 

We  trace  the  rivers  in  their  course, 
Far  upward  to  their  trickling  source  ; 
We  mark  the  spot  where  once  had  birth 
The  tree  whose  boughs  reach  o'er  the  earth. 

We  see  the  scattered  seeds  of  good, 
Become  a  fruitful  mighty  wood  ; 
The  corn  that  filled  the  sower's  hand, 
Now  multiplied  to  feed  the  land. 

*  Written  by  request  for  the  Robert  Raikes'  Centennial  Sunday  School  Anni 
versary  in  London. 


MISCELLANEO  US   POEMS.  321 

What  has  God  wrought  !  we  wondering  say, 
As  we  look  backward  from  to-day ; 
See,  through  the  mist  of  grateful  tears, 
The  harvest  of  a  Hundred  Years. 

APRIL  15,  1880. 


VII.* 

A  WAKE,  my  soul,  from  guilty  slumber! 
-£JL     Arise,  thy  warfare  now  begin  ! 
Shake  off  whatever  doth  encumber, 

And  break  the  fetters  of  thy  sin  ! 

And  break  the  fetters  of  thy  sin  ! 
Beneath  thy  feet  the  evil  trample  ! 

Expel  the  tyrants  of  the  breast  ! 

Give  to  the  enemy  no  rest  ! 
If  thou  art  weak,  God's  strength  is  ample. 

To  arms  !  to  arms  !  be  brave  ! 

Determine  to  be  free  ! 
Fight  on  !  fight  on  !  till  gracious  Heaven 

Shall  give  thee  victory  ! 

*TUNE— "  Marseilles  Hymn." 


322  MISCELLA -NEO  US   POEMS. 

Sweet  Liberty  !  divine  in  beauty  ! 

Dear  radiant  Daughter  of  the  Skies  ! 
Whose  other  names  are  Love  and  Duty — 

Restore  Earth's  long  lost  Paradise  ! 

Restore  Earth's  long  lost  Paradise  ! 
Assist  and  animate  endeavor, 

Whilst  'gainst  the  dark  infernal  towers, 

'Gainst  principalities  and  powers, 
We  battle  wage  and  fight  forever. 

To  arms  !  to  arms  !  be  brave  ! 

To  make  the  whole  world  free, 
Fight  on  !  fight  on  !  our  Captain,  Christ, 

Shall  give  us  victory. 

VIII. 

CHRIST  crucified  !  amazing  theme  ! 
I  see,  beneath  that  mean  disguise, 
Th'  undoubted  peer  of  God  Supreme, 
Th'  awful  Monarch  of  the  Skies  ! 

No  malefactor  He,  whose  gore 

Drips  from  the  wood,  and  dyes  the  sod  ; 

Gashed,  pierced,  and  bleeding,  I  adore, 
The  meek  and  patient  Son  of  God  ! 


M I  SCELLAN  EOU  S   POEMS..  323 

O  Friend  Divine  !   I  hear  those  groans, 

The  shuddering  universe  appall ! 
The  pleading  pity  of  those  tones 

Which  on  my  head  forgiveness  call ! 

If  I  such  matchless  grace  forget, 

This  costly  charity  of  Heaven, 
Then  may  I  bear  th'  uncanceled  debt, 

And  die,  and  never  be  forgiven  ! 


IX.* 

EVER,  my  Lord,  with  Thee, 
Ever  with  Thee  ! 
Through  all  eternity 

Thy  face  to  see  ! 
I  count  this  heaven,  to  be 
Ever,  my  Lord,  with  Thee, 
Ever  with  Thee  ! 

Fair  is  Jerusalem, 

All  of  pure  gold, 
Garnished  with  many  a  gem 

Of  worth  untold  : 

*TUNE— "  Nearer,  My  God,  to  Thee." 


324  MISCELLANEO  US   POEMS. 

I  only  ask,  to  be 
Ever,  my  Lord,  with  Thee, 
Ever  with  Thee  ! 

No  curse  is  there,  no  night, 

No  grief,  no  fear  ; 
Thy  smile  fills  heaven  with  light. 

Dries  every  tear  : 
What  rapture,  there  to  be 
Ever,  my  Lord,  with  Thee, 

Ever  with  Thee  ! 


X. 

WHEN  Jesus  speaks,  so  sweet  the  sound, 
The  harps  of  heaven  are  hushed  to  hear, 
And  all  His  words  go  circling  round, 
From  lip  to  lip  and  ear  to  ear. 

But  wondering  seraph  never  heard, 

In  all  the  mighty  years  of  heaven, 
Music  so  sweet  as  that  dear  word, 
"  Good  cheer  !  thy  sins  are  all  forgiven.  ' 


MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS.  325 

Sinners  of  earth,  redeemed  by  blood, 

How  leaped  your  hearts,  when  first  ye  knew 

Th'  amazing  grace,  and  understood 
The  gift  of  pardon  was  for  you  ! 

Adopted  now,  with  spirits  awed, 

Knowing  your  privilege  unpriced, 
Ye  claim  the  fatherhood  of  God 

And  brotherhood  of  Jesus  Christ, 

XI.* 
~THr7"~HO  are  happy,  truly  happy, 

Do  you  seek  to  know? 
Ask  the  Master,  He  will  tell  you 
Who  are  so. 

Shall  the  haughty,  Lord  !  the  gladness 

Of  Thy  kingdom  gain  ? 
"  Blessed  are  the  poor  in  spirit, 
They  shall  reign." 

Are  the  sons  of  pleasure  happy, 

Dead  to  highest  needs  ? 
"They  who  mourn  are  blessed,  seeing 
Joy  succeeds. " 

*  TUNE—"  Art  thou  weary  ?  art  them  languid  ?" 


326  MISCELLANEO  US   POEM S. 

Are  the  quick  of  quarrel  happy, 

Filled  with  pride  of  birth  ? 
"  Blessed  are  the  meek,  the  future 
Heirs  of  earth." 

Who  are  they,  who,  having  nothing, 

Shall  be  filled,  no  less  ? 
"  They  whose  hunger  and  whose  thirst  is 
Righteousness." 

Are  the  unforgiving  happy, 
"  Cruel  to  condemn  ? 
Who  show  mercy,  shall  have  mercy 
Shown  to  them." 

Shall  the  sensual  be  happy, 

In  eternity  ? 

"  Blessed  are  the  pure,  they  only 
God  shall  see." 

Have  they  filial  rights  and  honors 

Whose  delight  is  war? 
"  Nay  !  peacemakers  God's  beloved 
Children  are." 


MISCELLANEOUS   POEM 5.  327 

XII. 

THE  memory  of  Jesus'  Name 
Is  past  expression  sweet  : 
At  each  dear  mention  hearts  aflame 
With  quicker  pulses  beat ! 

But  sweet  above  all  sweetest  things 

Creation  can  afford, 
That  sweetness  which  His  presence  brings, 

The  vision  of  the  Lord. 

Sweeter  than  His  dear  Name  is  naught  ; 

None  worthier  of  laud, 
Was  ever  sung,  or  heard,  or  thought, 

Than  Jesus,  Son  of  God. 

Thou  hope,  to  those  of  contrite  heart ! 

To  those  who  ask,  how  kind  ! 
To  those  who  seek,  how  good  Thou  art  ! 

But  what  to  them  who  find  ? 

No  heart  is  able  to  conceive, 

Nor  tongue,  nor  pen  express  ; 
Who  tries  it  only  can  believe 

How  choice  that  blessedness  ! 


328   *  MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS. 

XIII. 

OTHE  unsearchable  riches  of  Christ ! 
Wondrous,  mysterious  treasure, 
Riches  of  wisdom  past  finding  out, 
Riches  of  grace  without  measure. 

O  the  unsearchable  riches  of  Christ ! 

Riches  of  love  and  salvation, 
Riches  of  glory  unspeakably  bright, 

Shaming  the  starry  creation. 

O  the  unsearchable  riches  of  Christ! 

Price  of  an  infinite  pardon, 
Payment  in  full  of  the  debt  of  the  race, 

Forfeit  incurred  in  the  garden. 

O  the  unsearchable  riches  of  Christ ! 

Title  to  all  things  possessing, 
Worthy  the  Lamb,  let  us  sing,  to  receive 

Riches,  and  honor  and  blessing. 


MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS.  329 


MISSIONARY    HYMNS.* 

I. 

I  SING  the  Shepherd  of  the  sheep, 
Who,  for  the  love  He  bore  the  fold, 
Did  wade  through  sorrows  dark  and  deep, 
And  freely  give  His  life  of  old. 

I  sing  the  love,  so  strange,  so  sweet, 
That  sought  the  lost  until  it  found, 

With  aching  heart,  and  bleeding  feet, 
And  flowing  tears  that  wet  the  ground. 

I  sing  the  goodness  of  our  God, 

The  patient  pity  and  the  grace 
That  left  no  dreadful  path  untrod 

To  seek  and  save  the  human  race. 

Great  Shepherd  of  the  nations  !     Thou, 

Bishop  of  souls,  go  forth  to  find 
Thy  scattered  flock  !     O,  gather  now 

The  straying  millions  of  mankind  ! 

*  The  most,  if  not  all,  of  the  Hymns  under  this  head  were  written  by  request  for 
a  little  manual  of  hymns,  original  and  selected,  published  two  years  since  under 
the  title  of  "  Mission  Band  Hymnal." 


33°  MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS. 


II. 

THEY  err  who  think  that  God  is  far, 
That  I  must  climb  from  star  to  star 
Through  mighty  intervals  of  space, 
To  reach  His  awful  dwelling-place. 

I  put  the  shoes  from  off  my  feet, 
I  go  not  forth  my  God  to  meet, 
For  God  is  everywhere,  and  here, 
Here  in  this  place  to  make  it  dear. 

Long  time  I  groped  and  could  not  find, 
For  light  is  darkness  to  the  blind  ; 
How  sweet  to  feel,  now  He  is  found, 
His  everlasting  arms  around  ! 

Upon  his  bosom  thus  to  rest, 
I  cannot  ask  to  be  more  blest ; 
To  know  my  sins  are  all  forgiven 
For  Jesus'  sake,  O,  this  is  heaven  ! 

While  I  love  Him  and  he  loves  me, 
I  care  no  other  heaven  to  see  ; 


MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS.  331 

And  if  there  be  some  higher  bliss, 
I  am  content  while  I  have  this. 

And  there  are  those  beyond  the  wave 
Whom  Christ  came  down  on  earth  to  save  : 
O,  let  me  haste  to  make  it  known, 
My  God  and  Saviour  is  their  own. 


III. 

SAVIOUR  of  the  human  race  ! 
Magnify  Thy  power  and  grace  ; 
Let  Thy  kingdom  come,  we  pray, 
Let  it  come  without  delay  ; 
Cast  down  every  rival  throne,. 
And  instead  set  up  Thine  own. 

Since  Thy  kingdom  is  within, 
And  the  rebel  is  our  sin, 
Let  Thine  arrows  sharp  and  keen, 
Pierce  the  enemy  unseen  ; 
Prince  of  Peace  !  the  evil  slay 
That  prevents  Thy  rightful  sway. 


332  MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 

Gird  Thy  sword  upon  Thy  side, 
O  most  Mighty  One  !  and  ride 
O'er  the  prostrate  hearts  of  foes, 
Over  all  things  that  oppose  ; 
Let  Thy  banner  be  unfurled 
High  above  a  conquered  world. 


O'ER  the  ocean  is  wafted  the  tremulous  cry, 
The  cry  of  the  heathen  in  need  : 
"We  are  dying  by  millions,  O,  let  us  not  die  ! 

Come  over  and  help  us,  we  plead  ! 
To  famishing  souls  swiftest  succor  afford, 

The  means  of  salvation  us  give  ; 
By  the  might  of  the  Word  of  the  Lord 
We  then  shall  eternally  live." 

We  hear  blended  with  these  far  off  pleadings  of  pain, 

The  main's  multitudinous  moan  ; 
While  th'  importunate  voice  sighs  again  and  again 

Its  prayer  in  varying  tone  ; 

*  TUNE— "The  Valley  of  Blessing." 


MISCELLANEO  US  POEMS.  333 

From  many-hued  people  of  different  speech, 

The  wail  o'er  the  deep  finds  its  way  : 
"We  are  dying,  with  life  within  reach, 
Come  over  and  help  us,  straightway  !" 

Who,    unmoved,    see   their   brother's   deep   lack,   can 
there  dwell 

The  love  of  the  Father  in  such  ? 
To  whom  much  is  forgiven,  'tis  needful  and  well 

That  they  in  return  should  love  much. 
Let  frequent  and  fast-sailing  ships  never  cease 

To  plough,  Lord  !  the  furrowless  sea, 
To  convey  the  Evangel  of  peace, 

Converting  the  world  unto  Thee. 


v* 

~T~YT~ICKED  hands,  how  sad  the  story  ! 

Crucified  the  Lord  of  Glory, 
Nailed  Him  to  the  accursed  tree, 
In  Thy  side  the  spear  did  bury, 
Son  of  God,  and  Son  of  Mary  ! 
Murdered  One  of  Calvary  ! 

*  TL-NE— "  Stabat  Mater." 


334  MISCELLANEO  US   POEMS. 

Was  there  ever  known  such  malice  ? 
Gall  of  hatred  in  the  chalice 

For  Thy  lips  of  love  wrung  out ; 
Priests  with  scribes  and  elders,  mocking, 
As  they  pass,  O  sight  most  shocking ! 

Wag  their  heads,  revile  and  flout. 

Was  there,  Thine  own  words  to  borrow, 
Ever  sorrow  like  Thy  sorrow, 

When  our  sins  were  on  Thee  laid  ? 
Sorrow,  which  that  cry  could  waken, 
"  Why,  My  God,  am  I  forsaken  ?  " 

Never  was  since  worlds  were  made. 

Never  after  such  dear  fashion 

Was  there  witnessed  such  compassion  : 

Publish  ye,  who  know  the  grace  ! 
Make  commanded  proclamation 
Of  the  Gospel  of  Salvation 

To  each  creature  of  the  race  ! 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  335 

VI.* 

rTlHE  sweet  prophetic  Voice 
-*-      Tells  every  wind  that  blows, 
The  desert  shall  rejoice, 

And  blossom  as  the  rose  ; 
The  wilderness,  no  longer  dumb, 
Exultant  sing,  The  Lord  is  come  ! 

The  uncultured  wilds,  where  roams 

The  Indian  of  the  West, 
Shall  turn  to  happy  homes 

And  gardens  of  the  blest  ; 
The  wilderness,  no  longer  dumb, 
Exultant  sing,  The  Lord  is  come  ! 

The  pestilential  swamp, 

Where  slavery  had  root, 
Shall,  freed  from  noisome  damp, 

Abound  in  wholesome  fruit ; 
The  wilderness,  no  longer  dumb, 
Exultant  sing,  The  Lord  is  come  ! 

Hot  Afric's  barren  sands, 

Where  men  stretch  forth  to  God 

*TuNE — "  Lenox." 


336  MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS. 

Their  supplicating  hands, 

Shall  change  to  verdant  sod  ; 
The  wilderness,  no  longer  dumb, 
Exultant  sing,  The  Lord  is  come  ! 

Asia,  the  dwelling-place 
Of  dragons,  shall  be  clad 

With  plants  and  flowers  of  grace, 
And  all  her  wastes  be  glad  ; 

The  wilderness,  no  longer  dumb, 

Exultant  sing,  The  Lord  is  come  ! 

And  Europe's  unfenced  grounds, 
Where  thorns  and  briars  grow, 

Shall  leap  through  all  her  bounds — 
A  paradise  below  ; 

The  wilderness,  no  longer  dumb, 

Exultant  sing,  The  Lord  is  come  ! 

Dear  day  of  God,  make  haste  ! 

Let  not  the  time  be  long 
When  sin  no  more  shall  waste, 

No  more  shall  triumph  wrong  ; 
And  earth  redeemed,  no  longer  dumb, 
Exultant  sing,  The  Lord  is  come  ! 


MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS. 


337 


VII.* 

messengers  of  God  to  men, 
-L       Now  on  the  deep  sea  tossing, 
Naught  shall  you  hurt,  God  shall  avert 

The  dangers  of  the  crossing  : 
CHORUS.  —  Nothing  to  fear  have  ye,  howe'er 
Loud  ocean  roars  and  ravens  ; 
Let  what  winds  blow,  be  glad  to  know, 
All  ports  are  happy  havens  ! 


The  ship  is  safe,  with  Christ  ye  sail, 

And  ye  are  bearing  orders  ; 
All  places  lie  beneath  one  sky, 

Close  to  the  heavenly  borders  :  —  CHO. 


God  at  the  helm  to  guide  the  bark, 
There  is  no  room  for  error  ; 

Whom  He  has  sent  should  be  content, 
Nor  yield  to  doubt  nor  terror  : — CHO. 

*  TUNE— "The  Shining  Shore." 


338  MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 


VIII.* 

HERE  are  partings  and  painful  farewells, 
And  the  sundering  of  tenderest  ties  ; 
In  that  heavenly  land  where  He  dwells, 
God  shall  wipe  away  tears  from  all  eyes. 

CHORUS. — "  In  the  sweet  by  and  by, 

We  shall  meet  on  that  beautiful  shore." 

Here  the  pilgrim  can  scarcely  discern 
The  reward  for  the  tears  that  he  sheds ; 

But  the  ransomed  with  songs  shall  return 
With  perpetual  joy  on  their  heads. — CHO. 

Guide  the  ships  which  Thy  servants  convey, 
Gracious  Lord,  o'er  the  turbulent  foam  ! 

Bless  their  labors,  be  with  them  alway, 
Till  they  reach  the  blest  threshold  of  Home! — CHO. 

*  TUNE— "The  Sweet  By  and  By." 


MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS.  339 


IX. 


FROM  Thee,  begetting  sure  conviction, 
Sound  out,  O  risen  Lord  !   always, 
Those  faithful  words  of  valediction, 
"  Lo  !  I  am  with  you  all  the  days." 

What  things  shall  happen  on  the  morrow, 

Thou  kindly  hidest  from  our  gaze  ; 
But  tellest  us  in  joy  or  sorrow, 
"  Lo  !  I  am  with  you  all  the  days." 

When  round  our  head  the  tempest  rages, 

And  sink  our  feet  in  miry  ways, 
Thy  voice  comes  floating  down  the  ages, 
"  Lo  !  I  am  with  you  all  the  days." 

O  Thou,  who  art  our  life  and  meetness, 
Not  death  shall  daunt  us  nor  amaze, 
Hearing  those  words  of  power  and  sweetness, 
"  Lo  !  I  am  with  you  all  the  days." 


34°  MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 


RACIOUS  Lord  !  who  out  of  darkness 

Didst  command  the  light  to  shine, 
In  the  sinful  soul  and  blinded, 

Pour  the  rays  of  truth  divine  ! 
Wilfully  their  eyelids  closing, 

Men  have  eyes  but  naught  perceive, 
Therefore  is  the  Gospel  hidden, 
Therefore  do  they  not  believe. 

Utter  Thy  creative  fiat ! 

Say  once  more,  Let  there  be  light ! 
Sun  of  Righteousness,  arising, 

Chase  away  the  shades  of  night. 
Once  more,  at  the  new  creation, 

Let  the  stars  of  morning  sing, 
And  the  sons  of  God  with  shoutings 

Make  the  heavenly  arches  ring. 

*TUNE — "  Guidance,"  Air  from  Flotow. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  341 

XI.* 

OUT  the  mouths  of  babes  and  sucklings, 
Thou  canst  perfect  praise  to  Thee  ! 
Wilt  thou  not  accept  the  worship, 
Humbly  rendered,  Lord,  by  me, 
Even  me  ? 

Things  that  to  the  wise  are  hidden, 

Children's  eyes  are  made  to  see  ; 
Thee  to  know  is  life  eternal, 

O,  reveal  Thyself  to  me, 

Even  me  ! 

Thou  hast  given  me  power  of  loving, 

Give  me  power  of  serving  Thee, 
Is  there  not  some  humble  service 

Which  can  now  be  done  by  me, 
Even  me  ? 

Hands  and  feet  should  ne'er  grow  weary 
When  employed,  dear  Lord  !   for  Thee  ; 

Tongue  should  never  cease  the  telling 
Of  Thy  grace  who  diedst  for  me, 
Even  me. 

*TUNE — "Even  Me." 


342  MISCELLANEO  US   POEMS. 

Infant  mouths  need  not  be  silent, 
Stammering  lips  can  publish  Thee, 

Sound  Thy  name  o'er  land  and  ocean, 
Be  it  sounded,  Lord,  by  me, 

Even  me  ! 

XII.* 

r  I  ^HE  Lord  is  my  Shepherd,  He  cares  for  the  sheep, 
-J-      From  danger  He  guards  me,  awake  and  asleep, 
He  makes  me  lie  down  in  green  pastures,  and  leads 
Beside  the  still  waters  that  gladden  the  meads. 

Astray  j  He  restores  me,  and  does  not  forsake, 

He  guides  in  right  paths  for  His  blessed  name's  sake, 

The  valley  and  shadow  of  death  I'll  not  fear, 

My  Shepherd  is  with  me,  His  rod  and  staff  cheer. 

He  spreads  me  a  feast  in  the  face  of  my  foes, 
With  oil  He  anoints  me,  my  cup  overflows, 
His  grace  will  not  fail  me,  the  hand  of  His  love 
Will  feed  me,  and  lead  me  to  pastures  above. 

O  Heavenly  Shepherd  !  most  loving  and  good, 
Who  boughtest  Thy  sheep  with  the  price  of  Thy  blood, 
Look  down  on  earth's  millions,  now  far  from  the  fold, 
Astray  on  the  mountains,  and  lost  in  the  wold  ! 

*  TUNE — "  Flow  gently,  sweet  Afton." 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS.  343 

XIII.* 

EVERYWHERE  the  groves  are  ringing, 
In  and  out  the  warblers  pass, 
Unseen  insects  join  in  singing 

Holy  anthems  from  the  grass. 
CHORUS. — God  who  made  us,  downward  gazes 
On  His  creatures  great  and  small, 
Condescends  to  hear  the  praises 
Of  the  meanest  of  them  all. 

Little  is  the  bee  that  hovers, 

With  its  tiny  wings  and  feet, 
Lighting  not  till  it  discovers 

Where  the  blossom  hides  its  sweet. — CHO. 

As  in  mountain  lake  is  given 

Image  of  the  sky,  we  view 
The  same  blessed  arch  of  heaven 

Mirrored  in  a  drop  of  dew. — CHO. 

Therefore,  O  our  God  and  Father  ! 

Little  children  though  we  be, 
We  around  Thy  throne  would  gather, 

Love  and  serve  and  worship  Thee. — CHO 

*  TUXE— "  Hark  !    the  morning  bells  are  ringing." 


344  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

We  are  sinful  and  unholy, 
Make  the  turbid  waters  clear, 

That  they  may  reflect  Thee,  solely, 
And  display  Thy  likeness  here. — CHO. 

XIV.* 

LOVE  is  standing  at  the  door, 
Stands  there  |  knocking  |  evermore, 
How  much  longer  must  He  wait, 
Vainly  ||  pleading]]  at  the  gate  ? 
I  Sinful  soul  and  hard,  || 
Let  the  portal  be  unbarred  ! 
Else,  O  Saviour,  force  Thy  way, 
And  what  's  ||  hostile  ||  to  Thee,  slay  ! 

Thou  dost  come  with  bleeding  feet, 
Dost  with  I  wounded  ||  hands  entreat  ; 
Thou  dost  make  to  all  the  race 
A  free  ||  proffer  ||  of  Thy  grace. 
||  Sinful  soul  and  hard,  || 
Let  the  portal  be  unbarred  ! 
Else,  O  Saviour,  force  Thy  way, 
And  what  's  |  hostile  I]  to  Thee,  slay  ! 

*  TUNE,  "  Saviour  more  than  life  to  me." 


MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS,  345 


ODE  TO    COLD    WATER. 

OFAIR  is  the  virgin  Lymph,  fresh  from  the  fountain, 
Sleeping  in  crystal  wells, 

Leaping  in  shady  dells, 

Or  issuing  clear  from  the  womb  of  the  mountain, 
Sky-mated,  related,  Earth's  holiest  Daughter ! 

Not  the  hot  kiss  of  wine, 

Is  half  so  divine, 

As  the  sip  of  thy  lip,  inspiring  Cold  Water  ! 
As  chaste  as  the  snows  on  the  sky-piercing  Alpine  top — 

Now  sparkling  in  dews, 

Now  wearing  the  hues 

Of  the  rainbow,  born  of  the  ray  and  the  rain-drop  ; 
In  health,  and  in  sickness,  all  seasons,  all  weather, 
Men  may  quaff  thee,  and  laugh,  and  be  happy  together. 

O  see,  how  all  Nature  claps  hands  and  rejoices  ! 
What  greenness  and  gladness, 
For  brownness  and  sadness  ! 

What  music  and  mirth  from  infinite  voices  ! 

Herds  lowing,  cocks  crowing,  ten  thousand  birds  singing. 


346  MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS. 

Sweet  murmuring  rills, 

And  splashings  of  mills, 

And  foaming  cascades,  gems  and  jewels  upflinging  ; 
The  winds,  all  the  leaves  from  their  sick  slumbers  waking. 

With  whispers  and  kisses, 

And  breathings  of  blisses, 

From  the  blooms  all  perfumes  on  the  buxom  airshaking  ; 
New  beauty  returning  to  grass,  tree  and  flower, 
So  soon  as  the  thirsty  earth  drinks  in  the  shower. 

The  great  gift  of  God,  and  the  joy  of  Creation — 

As  needful  as  air, 

Like  it,  everywhere, 

As  essential,  potential,  its  blest  operation — 
The  innocent  source  of  health  and  hilarity  ; 

The  friend  of  long  life, 

The  foe  of  all  strife, 

The  pledge  of  good  fellowship,  friendship  and  charity, 
Is  WATER,  pure  WATER — it  makes  the  heart  gladder 

Than  wine,  the  fierce  balker, 

The  merciless  mocker, 

That  bites  like  the  serpent,  and  stings  like  the  adder  ; 
For  devil-born  revel,  and  hollow  brief  laughter, 
Have  gnashings  of  teeth,  and  wailings  hereafter. 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS.  347 


THE    LORD'S    PRAYER. 

A  BBA,  Father,  God  of  Love, 
-£--V_     Hallowed  be  Thy  name  by  all 
In  the  height  of  heaven  above, 

And  on  this  terrestrial  ball  ! 
May  Thy  kingdom  come  in  power, 

Subjugating  all  to  Thee  ; 
Other  kingdoms  Thine  devour 

That  there  only  one  may  be  ! 

May  Thy  righteous  will  be  done 

By  the  fallen  race  of  man  ! 
Back  to  old  allegiance  won, 

Serving  Thee  as  angels  can, 
Who  have  kept  their  first  estate, 

And  are  -strong  and  swift  of  wing, 
Always  eager  and  elate, 

Quick  to  bear  and  quick  to  bring. 

Give  our  bodies  needful  food, 
Day  by  day  their  wants  supply, 

And  withhold  not  heavenly  food 
Lest  our  starving  spirits  die  ! 


MISCELLANEO  US   POEMS. 

Man  lives  not  by  bread  alone  ; 

Should  Thy  blessing  not  attend, 
Bread  's  no  better  than  a  stone, 

Soon  our  mortal  lives  would  end. 

Debts  to  law  and  justice  due, 

Freely  cancel  and  forgive  ! 
Our  revengeful  souls  renew 

That  we  may  not  die  but  live  ! 
Since,  if  we  match  not  the  grace 

Whereby  Thou  our  sin  dost  blot, 
Doubtful  will  be  left  the  case 

Whether  Thou  forgiv'st  or  not. 

For  that  we  are  weak  and  frail, 

Lead  us  not  where  danger  lies  ! 
If  the  enemy  assail, 

Let  it  not  be  a  surprise  ! 
In  the  dark  and  dreadful  hour, 

From  the  Evil  One  deliver, 
For  the  Kingdom  's  Thine  and  power 

In  doxologies  forever.     AMEN  ! 


LATIN    HYMNS   WITH  ORIGINAL  TRANSLA 
TIONS.      By  ABRAHAM  COLES,  M.  D.,   LL.  D. 
D.  Appleton  and  Company,  New  York. 

In  Four  Parts,  namely  : 

DIES    IR^E    IN    THIRTEEN    ORIGINAL    VERSIONS.        Fifth 
Edition,     pp.  no. 

STABAT    MATER   (dolorosa).     "The  Sorrows  of  Mary." 
Second  Edition,     pp.  37. 

STABAT  MATER  (speciosa).    "  The  Joys  of  Mary."  pp.  25. 

OLD  GEMS  IN  NEW  SETTINGS.     Being  additional  Selec 
tions  from  Mediaeval  Hymnology.  pp.  77. 

All  bound  together,  forming  one  elegantly  printed 
volume,  with  Biographical  and  Critical  Prefaces,  Illus 
trations,  Music,  &c.  Crown  8vo.  pp.  249. 

By  the  same  Author 

THE  EVANGEL  IN   VERSE.      One  elegant  volume. 

Crown  8vo.    pp.  386. 

The  Illustrations,  twenty-eight  in  number,  form  of 
themselves  a  Life  of  Christ  as  eloquently  told  by  the 
great  Painters.  They  are  "Artotype"  copies  of  first- 
class  Engravings,  admirably  preserving  not  only  every 
line  of  grace  found  in  the  originals,  but  fixing  a  beauty 
never  to  fade — executed  by  E.  Bierstadt,  brother  of  the 
distinguished  landscape  painter. 

Also 

THE  MICROCOSM*  AND  OTHER  POEMS.    Beauti 
fully  Illustrated.     Crown  8vo.  pp.  348. 

*  Second  Edition. 


NOTICES   OF   THE   PRESS. 

"  We  commend  the  volume  (DiES  IR^E,  In  Thirteen  Original  Ver 
sions)  as  one  of  great  interest,  and  an  admirable  tribute  from  Ameri 
can  scholarship  and  poetic  taste  to  the  supreme  nobility  of  the  original 
poem.  Dr.  Coles  has  shown  a  fine  appreciation  of  the  spirit  and 
rhythmic  movement  of  the  Hymn,  as  well  as  unusual  command  of 
language  and  rhyme  ;  and  we  much  doubt  whether  any  translation  of 
the  Dies  Inc,  better  than  the  first  of  the  thirteen,  will  ever  be  pro 
duced  in  English,  except  perhaps  by  himself.  ...  As  to  the  transla 
tion  of  the  Hymn,  it  is  perhaps  the  most  difficult  task  that  could  be 
undertaken.  To  render  Faust  or  the  Songs  of  Egmont  into  fitting 
English  numbers,  would  be  easy  in  comparison. — Richard  Granf 
White  (The  Albion}. 

"The  book  is  a  gem  both  typographically  and  intrinsically  ;  beau 
tifully  printed  at  the  '  Riverside  Press,'  in  the  loveliest  antique  type, 
on  tinted  paper,  with  liberal  margins,  embellished  with  exquisite 
photographs  of  the  great  masterpieces  of  Christian  Art,  and  withal 
elegantly  and  solidly  bound  in  Matthew's  best  style,  a  gentleman-like 
book,  suggestive  of  Christmas  and  the  centre-table  ;  and  its  contents 
worthy  of  their  dainty  envelope,  amply  entitling  it  as  well  to  a  place 

on  the  shelves  of  the  scholar The  first  two  of  the  Thirteen 

Versions  of  the  Dies  Ira:  appeared  in  the  '  Newark  Daily  Advertiser ' 
as  long  ago  as  1847.  They  were  extensively  copied  by  the  press,  and 
warmly  commended — particularly  by  the  Rev.  Drs.  James  W.  Alex 
ander  and  W.  R.  Williams,  scholars  whose  fritical  acumen  and  liter 
ary  ability  are  universally  recognized — as  being  the  best  of  the 
English  versions  in  double  rhyme  ;  and  examples  of  singular  success 
in  a  difficult  undertaking,  in  which  many,  and  of  eminent  name,  had 
been  competitors.  The  eleven  other  versions  are  worthy  companions 
of  those  which  have  received  such  eminent  endorsement.  Indeed, 
we  are  not  sure  but  that  the  last,  which  is  in  the  same  measure  as- 
Crashaw's,  but  in  our  judgment  far  superior,  will  please  the  general 
taste  most  of  all." — Rev.  S.  I.  Prime,  D.  D.  (New  York  Observer). 

"  There  are  few  versions  of  the  Hymn  which  will  bear  to  be  com 
pared  with  these  ;  we  are  surprised  that  they  are  all  so  well  done."' 
William  C.  Bryant  (N.  Y.  Evening  Post}. 

"Dr.   Coles   has    made,    we    think,    the  most   successful   attempt 

at  an  English  translation  of  the  hymn  that  we  have  ever  seen 

He  has  done  so  well  that  we  hope  he  will  try  his  hand  on  some  of  the 
other  Latin  Hymns.  By  rendering  them  in  their  own  metres,  and 
with  so  large  a  transfusion  of  their  spirit  as  characterizes  his  present 
attempt,  he  will  be  doing  a  real  service  to  the  lovers  of  that  kind  of 


religious  poetry  in  which  neither  the  religion  nor  the  poetry  is  left  out. 
He  has  shown  that  he  knows  the  worth  of  faithfulness." — James 
Rzissell  Lowell  (Atlantic  Monthly). 

"Of  Dr.  Coles'  remarkable  success  as  respects  these  particulars 
(namely,  faithfulness  and  variety),  no  one  competent  to  judge  can 
doubt....  For  all  that  enters  into  a  good  translation,  fidelity  to  the 
sense  of  the  original,  uniform  conformity  to  its  tenses,  preservation 
of  its  metrical  form  without  awkwardly  inverting,  inelegantly  abbrevia 
ting,  or  violently  straining  the  sense  of  the  words,  and  the  reproduc 
tion  of  its  vital  spirit — for  all  these  qualities  Dr.  Coles'  first  translation 
•stands,  we  believe,  not  only  unsurpassed,  but  unequalled  in  the  Eng 
lish  language." — Christian  (Quarterly)  Review. 

"  Dr.  A.  Coles  has  long  been  known  to  the  literary  world  as  spec 
ially  successful  in  the  translation  of  Latin  Hymns.  His  renderings 
of  the  Dies  Ira;  are  familiar  to  many  readers.  He  has  now  also  pre 
pared  a  book  entitled  Old  Gems  in  New  Settings,  an  exquisite  volume, 
in  which  we  find  the  De  Contemptu  Mundi,  the  Veni  Sancte  Spirittts, 
-and  other  fine  old  favorites  skillfully  and  gracefully  translated.  The 
grand  hymn  or  poem  of  Bernard  de  Clugny,  of  which  the  extracts  in 
this  book  are  styled  Urbs  Calestis  Syon,  is  rendered  in  a  style  very 
nearly  resembling  the  original,  and  gives  the  reader,  who  does  not 
•understand  Latin,  an  excellent  idea  of  the  peculiar  characteristics  of 
the  hymn  of  Bernard.  Besides  these,  we  have  the  Stabat  Mater,  with 
a  complete  history  of  the  noble  hymn,  and  a  very  fine  translation.  The 
lovers  of  old  hymns  owe  a  special  debt  of  gratitude  to  Dr.  Coles  for 
the  good  taste  and  the  thorough  appreciation  and  ability  which  he 
brings  to  the  work  of  placing  these  glorious  old  songs  within  reach  of 
the  modern  world.  We  could  wish  them  to  become  favorites  in 
•every  family,  and  they  wyll  so  become  in  spite  of  their  Latin  origin." 
—  William  C.  Prime  (Journal  of  Commerce). 

"  United  with  a  rare  command  of  language  and  facility  of  versifica 
tion,  this  is  the  secret  of  the  eminent  success  with  which  the  Transla 
tor  has  reproduced  the  solemn  litany  of  the  Middle  Ages  in  such  a 
variety  of  forms.  If  not  all  of  equal  excellence,  it  is  hard  to  decide 
.as  to  their  respective  merits,  so  admirably  do  they  embody  the  tone 
and  sentiment  of  the  original  in  vigorous  and  impressive  verse.  The 
essays  which  precede  and  follow  the  Hymn,  exhibit  the  learning  and 
the  taste  of  the  translator  in  a  most  favorable  light,  and  show  that  an 
antiquary  and  a  poet  have  not  been  lost  in  the  study  of  science  and 
the  practice  of  a  laborious  profession.  In  addition  to  the  Thirteen 
Versions  of  Dies  Ira;,  the  volume  contains  translations  of  the  Stabat 
Mater,  Urbs  Calestis  Syon,  Veni  Creator  Spiritus,  and  other  choice 
mediaeval  hymns  which  have  been  executed  with  equal  unction  and 
felicity. 

"  We  have  also  a  poem  by  the  same  author,  entitled  The  Microcosm, 
read  before  the  Medical  Society  of  New  Jersey  at  its  Centenary  anni 
versary.  It  is  an  ingenious  attempt  to  present  the  principles  of  the 


animal  economy  in  a  philosophical  poem,  somewhat  after  the  manner 
of  Lucretius,  and  combining  scientific  analysis  with  religious  senti 
ment.  In  ordinary  hands,  we  should  not  regard  this  as  a  happy,  nor 
a  safe  experiment,  but  the  dexterity  with  which  it  has  been  managed 
by  Dr.  Coles,  illustrates  his  versatile  talent  as  well  as  the  originality 
of  his  conceptions." — George  Ripley  (New  York  Tribune). 

"  Dr.  Coles  has  been  too  long  away  from  a  public  which  has  already 
shown  itself  kindly  to  him,  and  we  thank  him,  especially,  for  this 
book  of  his  own  ( Tlie  Microcosm).  .  .  Why  should  not  the  wonderful 
make  of  man — the  might  and  cunning  skill  that  are  moulded  in  him — 
furnish  a  very  choice  theme  for  poetry  ?  Dr.  Coles,  accustomed,  by 
his  profession,  to  search  among  and  study  out  these  marvels,  knowing 
how  they  are  grouped  together,  what  work  they  do,  and  how  they  are 
fitted  for  it,  believes  that  here  is  one  of  the  very  noblest  themes  for 
such  use,  hitherto  strangely  left  alone.  This  therefore  is  the  occasion 
of  his  writing  The  Microcosm.  .  The  Eustachian  Tube,  and  Cerebellum 
and  (Esophagus,  made  into  poetry,  must  have  astonished  the  well- 
informed  Medical  Faculty  of  New  Jersey,  much  as  a  farmer's  smoke 
house  and  pig-sty  and  shed  would  astonish  him,  if  made  into  a 
picture.  And  Dr.  Coles  has  really  made  them  into  poetry..  ..Tissue 
and  organ,  and  channel,  and  duct  are  very  skillfully  and  beautifully 
described,  and  made  to  witness  to  God's  goodness  :  the  skin,  the 
nerves,  the  flesh,  the  heart,  the  eye,  the  tongue,  the  ear,  the  seeing, 
hearing,  speech,  light,  tears,  sleep,  music,  the  blind,  the  dumb,  the 
living  mind.  Whatever  in  man  is  good,  and  strong,  and  fine,  and 
beautiful,  finds  place  in  Dr.  Coles'  Poem,  and  is  so  set  forth  that  the 
man  of  science  and  the  man  who  can  read  and  feel  the  force  of  good 
thoughts  and  tuneful  words,  and  knows  nothing  of  anatomy  and 
physiology,  beside  the  cheapest  axioms  of  food  and  sleep,  may  alike 
enjoy  the  reading.  Whoever  has  only  grovelling  notions  of  man's 
nature,  and  knows  the  body  only  as  an  instrument  of  low  pleasure  and  a 
vehicle  of  pain  and  punishment,  would  here  learn  something  better 
of  himself  and  worthier  of  the  answer  which  he,  like  holier  men, 
must  make,  at  last.  Not  that  all  is  preaching.  The  book  is,  indeed, 
written  by  a  Christian  man,  to  whom  his  faith  in  his  Redeemer  and 
relationship  to  God  are  dearer  than  all  other  things  ;  but  the  blush  of 
maiden-love  and  the  conscious  glance  of  the  eye  ;  the  deep  mother's 
love  for  the  infant  nestling  in  the  bosom,  and  nursing  at  the  breast ; 
the  hallowed  happiness  of  two  made  one,  in  Christ ;  all  these  glow  in 
his  pages,  with  an  attractive  beauty  beyond  the  common.  All  that 
imaginative  and  eloquent  account  of  the  brain  and  its  great  faculty, 

we  would  take,   whole,  if  we  could If  high  thoughts,   in  glowing 

words,  be  noble,  is  not  this  which  we  have  just  read  ? One  meets, 

continually,  in  this  poem,  such  passages  as  the  following  ;  and  one 

such,  even,  would  show  the  fine  skill  and  glowing  power  of  the  writer. . 

"  The  second  book  whose  title  stands  at  the  head  of  this  article— 

the  Stabat  Afater—is  a  translation  with  very  interesting  comments 

Like  most  poets,  the  author  of    The  Microcosm  writes  prose  beauti- 


fully,  and  the  reader  will  never  find,  in  the  prose  of  these  volumes, 
anything  but  what  is  interesting.  In  the  poem  and  remarks  which 
accompany  the  Stabat  Mater  is  the  utmost  justness  of  criticism,  full-  - 
ness  of  information,  and  gracefulness  of  expression.  If  as  much  can 
be  learned,  elsewhere,  of  the  origin  and  character,  and  history  of  that 
hymn,  we  may  safely  say  that  it  can  nowhere  be  learned  so  pleas 
antly.  These  parts  of  the  book,  like  the  corresponding  parts  of  the 
book  on  the  Dies  Irce,  we  hold  to  be  especially  valuable." — Rev.  Robert 
Lowell,  D.  D.  (The  Church  Monthly). 

"Dr.  Coles  has  applied  a  want  and  done  a  graceful  work  in  The 
Microcosm.  What  the  flower  or  babbling  stream  is  to  Wordsworth, 
that  is  the  stranger,  more  complex,  and  more  beautiful  human  frame 
to  our  author.  In  its  organs,  its  ppwers,  its  aspirations,  and  its 
passions,  he  finds  ample  theme  for  song. . .  Everywhere  the  rhythm  is 
flowing  and  easy,  and  no  scholarly  man  can  peruse  the  work  without 
a  glance  of  wonder  at  the  varied  erudition,  classical,  poetical,  and 
learned,  that  crowds  its  pages,  and  overflows  in  foot-notes.  And 
through  the  whole  is  a  devout  religious  tone  and  a  purity  of  purpose 
worthy  of  all  praise." — Newark  Daily  Advertiser. 

"Dr.  Coles' -researches,  made  so  lovingly  and  conscientiously  in 
his  special  field  of  poetical  scholarship,  have  given  him  a  distinct  and 
most  enviable  position  among  American  authors.  We  of  the  younger 
sort  learn  a  lesson  of  reverent  humility  from  the  pure  enthusiasm 
with  which  he  approaches  and  handles  his  noble  themes.  The  '  tone  ' 
of  all  his  works  is  perfect.  He  is  so  thoroughly  in  sympathy  with 
his  subjects  that  the  lay  reader  instantly  shares  his  feeling  ;  and  there 
is  a  kind  of  '  white  light '  pervading  the  whole — prose  and  verse — 
which  at  any  time  tranquilizes  and  purifies  the  mind." — Edmund  C. 
Stedman. 

"  I  have  finished  the  reading  of  The  Microcosm,  which  has  afforded 
me  unmingled  delight.  It  is  really  a  remarkable  poem,  and  has  pas 
sages  of  great  beauty  and  power.  It  cannot  fail  to  secure  the  admi 
ration  of  all  capable  of  appreciating  it.  Its  ease,  its  exquisite  finish, 
its  vivid  yet  delicate  and  powerful  imagery,  and  above  all  its  sublime 
religious  interest,  entitle  it  to  a  very  high  place  in  our  literature." — 
Rev.  Robert  Turnbtdl,  D.  D. 

"The  idea  of  The  Microcosm  is  novel  and  daring,  but  it  is  worked 
out  with  great  skill  and  delicacy.  The  Evangel  is  a  work  of  piety 
and  beauty.  The  Proem  opens  with  strong,  vigorous  yet  melodious 
verse." — John  G.  Whittier. 

"  The  Evangel  in  Verse,  is  the  ripest  fruit  of  the  scholarship, 
taste  and  poetic  talent  of  one  of  our  accomplished  students  of  Eng 
lish  verse,  whose  translations  of  Dies  Irce  and  other  poems  have  made 
the  name  of  Dr.  Coles  familiar  in  the  literature  of  our  day.  In  the 
work  before  us  he  has  attempted  something  higher  and  better  than 
any  former  essay  of  his  skillful  pen.  He  has  rendered  the  Gospel 
story  of  our  Lord  and  Saviour  into  verse,  with  copious  notes,  giving 


the  largest  amount  of  knowledge  from  critical  authorities  to  justify 
and  explain  the  readings  and  to  illuminate  the  sacred  narrative. 
He  excludes  everything  fictitious,  and  clings  to  the  orthodox  view  of 
the  character  and  mission  of  the  God-man.  The  illustrations  are  a 
complete  pictorial  anthology.  Thus  the  poet,  critic,  commentator 
and  artist  has  made  a  volume  that  will  take  its  place  among  the  rare 
productions  of  the  age,  as  an  illustration  of  the  genius,  taste,  and 
fertile  scholarship  of  the  author." — Rev.  S.  Irenizus  Prime,  D.  D.  (The 
New  York  Observer). 

"  The  purpose  of  this  volume  would  be  usually  regarded  as  beyond 
the  scope  of  poetic  composition.  It  aims  to  reproduce  the  scenes  of 
the  Gospel  History  in  verse,  with  a  strict  adherence  to  the  sacred  nar 
rative  and  no  greater  degree  of  imaginative  coloring  than  would 
serve  to  present  the  facts  in  the  most  brilliant  and  impressive  light. 
But  the  subject  is  one  with  which  the  author  cherishes  so  profound  a 
sympathy,  as  in  some  sense  to  justify  the  boldness  of  the  attempt. 
The  Oriental  cast  of  his  mind  allures  him  to  the  haunts  of  sacred 
song,  and  produces  a  vital  communion  with  the  spirit  of  Hebrew 
poetry.  Had  he  lived  in  the  days  of  Isaiah  or  Jeremiah,  he  might 
have  been  one  of  the  bards  who  sought  inspiration  'at  Siloa's  brook 
that  flowed  fast  by  the  oracle  of  God.'  The  present  work  is  not  the 
first  fruits  of  his  religious  Muse,  but  he  is  already  known  to  the  lovers  of 
mediaeval  literature  by  his  admirable  translations  of  the  Dies  Ira;. 
....  The  volume  is  brought  out  in  a  style  of  unusual  elegance,  as 
it  respects  the  essential  requisites  of  paper,  print  and  binding,  while 
the  copious  illustrations  will  attract  notice  by  their  selection  of  the 
most  celebrated  works  of  the  best  masters." — George  Ripley  (The  New 
York  Tribune). 

"  The  Evangelin  Verse  is  a  feast  to  the  eye  and  ear  and  heart.  .The 
careful  exegesis,  the  conscientious  loyalty  to  the  statements  of  the 
Holy  Story,  the  sympathetic  reproduction  of  a  remote  and  Oriental 
past,  the  sacred  insight  into  the  meaning  of  the  Peerless  Career,  the 
homageful  yet  manly,  unsuperstitious  reverence,  the  rhythm  as  melo 
dious  as  stately,  the  frequent  notes,  opulent  in  learning  and  doc 
trine  and  devotion,  the  illustrations  deftly  culled  from  whatever 
is  choice  in  ancient  and  modern  art,  these  are  some  of  the  many 
excellencies  which  give  to  The  Evangel  in  Verse  an  immortal  beauty 
and  worth,  adding  it  as  another  coronet  for  Him  on  whose  brow  are 
many  diadems." — Rev.  Geo.  D.  Boardman,  D.  D. 

"  I  admire  the  skill  which  The  Evangel  displays  in  investing  with 
rainbow  hues  the  simple  narrations  of  the  Gospels.  All,  however, 
who  have  read  Dr.  Coles'  versions  of  the  Dies  Irw  and  other  Latin 
Hymns  must  be  prepared  to  receive  any  new  productions  from  his 
pen  with  high  expectations.  In  these  days  when  even  the  clerical 
office  seems  in  many  cases  insufficient  to  protect  from  the  present 
fashionable  form  of  scepticism,  it  is  a  great  satisfaction  to  see  a  man 
of  science  and  a  scholar  adhering  so  faithfully  to  the  simple  Gospel." 
—Rev.  Charles  Hodge,  D.  D.,  LL.  D. 


"  Dr.  Coles  is  plainly  a  man  of  a  very  religious  heart  and  a  deeply 
reverential  mind.  .  .  .  Moreover  he  has  so  much  learning  in  his 
favorite  subject,  and  so  much  critical  instinct  and  experience,  that 
those  who  can  relish  honest  thinking,  and  tender  and  most  skillful 
and  true  deductions,  accept  his  teaching  and  suggestion  with  a  ready 
— sometimes  surprised — sympathy  and  confidence.  Add  to  all  this, 
that  he  has  the  sure  taste  of  a  poet,  and  the  warm  and  loving  earnest 
ness  of  a  true  believer  in  the  redeeming  Son  of  God,  and  the  catho 
lic  spirit  of  one  who  knows  with  mind  and  heart  that  Christianity  at 
its  beginning  was  Christianity,  and  we  have  the  man  who  can  write 
such  books  as  earnest  Christian  people  will  welcome  and  be  thankful 

for In  this  new  book  he  proposes  '  that  The  Evangel  shall  be  a 

poetic  version,  and  verse  by  verse  paraphrase,  so  far  as  it  goes,  of 
the  Four  Gospels,  anciently  and  properly  regarded  as  one.'  He 
makes  an  exquisite  plea,  in  his  preface,  for  giving  leave  to  the  glad 
words  to  rejoice  at  the  Lord's  coming  in  the  Flesh,  for  which  all  other 

beings   and   things   show   their   happiness In  the  notes  the 

reader  will  find  (if  he  have  skill  for  such  things)  a  treasure-house,  in 
which  everything  is  worthy  of  its  place.  Where  he  has  offered  new 
interpretations,  or  set  forth  at  large  interpretations  not  generally  re 
ceived  or  familiar,  he  modestly  asks  only  to  have  place  given  him, 
and  gives  every  one  free  leave  to  differ.  Everywhere  there  is  the 
largest  and  most  true-hearted  charity.  .  .  .  The  reader  cannot  open 
anywhere  without  finding  in  these  notes,  if  he  be  not  wiser  or  more 
learned  than  ourselves,  a  great  deal  that  he  never  saw,  or  never  saw 
so  well  set  forth  before." — Rev.  Robert  Lowell,  D.  D,  (CJmrch  Monthly}. 

"There  is  a  kind  of  straightforward  simplicity  about  the  poetical 
paraphrases  which  reminds  one  of  the  homelier  but  still  always  inter 
esting  verses  which  John  Bunyan  sprinkles  like  drops  of  heavenly 
dew  along  the  pages  of  the  Pilgrim's  Progress.  The  illustrations 
add  much  to  the  work,  in  the  way  of  ornament,  and  aid  to  the  imag 
ination.  One  among  them  is  of  terrible  power,  as  it  seems  to  me, 
such  as  it  would  be  hard  to  show  the  equal  of  in  the  work  of  any 
modern  artist.  I  mean  Holman  Hunt's  'Scapegoat.'  There  is  a 
whole  Theology  in  that  picture.  It  haunts  me  with  its  fearful  sugges- 
tiveness  like  a  nightmare.  I  find  The  Evangel  an  impressive  and 
charming  book.  It  does  not  provoke  criticism — it  is  too  devout,  too 
sincere,  too  thoroughly  conscientious  in  its  elaboration  to  allow  of  fault 
finding  or  fault-hunting." — Dr.  Oliver  Wendell  Holmes. 

"  I  have  read  a  considerable  part  of  The  Evangel and  with  pleasure 
and  satisfaction.  The  versification  of  the  Lord's  Prayer  is  both  an 
expansion  of  the  sense  and  a  commentary.  The  thought  has  often 
occurred  to  me  what  a  world  of  meaning  is  there  wrapped  up,  and 
that  meaning  is  admirably  brought  out." — William  C.  .Bryant. 


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